Lonely People Are Always Up In The

I Have A Very Strong Sense Of Architecture In My Novels. But At First It's Sometimes Like Building A Doorknob Before You Have A Door, And A Door Before You Have A Room.

Once Upon A Time You Were A Fish. How Do You Know? Because I Was Also A Fish. You, Too? Sure. A Long Time Ago. Anyway, Being A Fish, You Knew How To Swim. You Were A Great Swimmer. A Champion Swimmer, You Were. You Loved The Water. Why? What Do You Mean, Why? Why Did I Love The Water? Because It Was Your Life! And As We Talked, I Would Have Let Him Go One Finger At A Time, Until, Without His Realizing, He'd Be Floating Without Me. Perhaps That Is What It Means To Be A Father-to Teach Your Child To Live Without You.

...our Eyes Locked In One Of Those Looks That Sometimes Happen Between Strangers, When Both Wordlessly Agree That Reality Contains Sinkholes Whose Depths Neither Can Ever Hope To Fathom.

There Were Many Things They Simply Didn't Talk About: Between Them, Silence Was Not So Much A Form Of Evasion As A Way For Solitary People To Exist In A Family.

. . . She Gave Him One Of Those Broad Smiles She Reserved For Strangers, As If She Were Aware Of Being Able To Pass, In Their Eyes, For An Ordinary Woman.