Priestdaddy: A Memoir

by Patricia Lockwood

I am happy to see bodies insist that they are not shut up in this book, they are elsewhere. The tomb is empty, rejoice, he is not here.

What if she wanted simply to reveal, and not to be exposed?

Collecting was a mad instinct to own the world.

hold my own context in my hand.

It was like forgetting a language you spoke a long time ago, when you were a child.”

It’s my way of still participating in the language I was raised inside, which despite all renunciation will always be mine.

what we said in the middle of the night did not matter, it was just breathing half turned into language,

“This is not affecting me at all, though maybe it is making me psychic.”