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I judge people two ways—on how they treat animals, and on what they like to eat. If their favorite food is some kind of salad, they are definitely a bad person. Anything with cheese, they are probably OK.
It held the scent of someone I knew, or longed to know. How could that be?
I think it’s OK for me to say that I am beautiful.
That’s enough for now. Feelings are very tiring.
Anyway the trick to life is, if you don’t like what is happening, go back to sleep until it stops.
Everything in life is a rehearsal for loss. Only the smart people know it.”
“I want you to feel the power of it,” she said. “Of walking away from something you love. Doesn’t it make you feel strong?”
Breaking me, then mending me, over and over—that was my mother.
I saw that she was showing me something that was safe to love.
It’s raccoons; they’re bad for shingle. But I like their small, clever black hands.
She’ll do it tomorrow—or maybe she will die in the night. She decides to leave it up to fate.
Her dreams are filled with burning sun and the fear of loss.
Thoughts are a door that the dead walk through.
Life was conducted amid death, side by side.
How many times can someone bend before they break forever? You have to take care, dealing with broken things; sometimes they give way, and break others in their turn.
That’s why I drink, I say to myself, to control time and space. It seems the truest thought I’ve ever had.
