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falls down a deep well with no bottom, and I forget what I’ve forgotten.
woke up and it was all a dream” at the end of a story. She says it violates the deal between reader and writer, that it’s a cop-out, it’s the Boy Who Cried Wolf. But every single morning we really do wake up and it really was all a dream.
“Coffee’s the elixir of life,
Now it’s quiet like the morning after the end of the world.
“A mystery house that only blinks into existence one night every nine years. God, I’ve got a hard-on as big as Berkshire. Drink up!”
“Open-mindedness is a wonderful thing,” says Angelica. “Try it sometime.” Fern lights another cigarette. “If you’re too open-minded, your brain falls out.”
People are masks, with masks under those masks, and masks under those, and down you go.
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Grief is an amputation, but hope is incurable hemophilia: you bleed and bleed and bleed.