I came home poorer by several hundred dollars and richer by more books than I could carry.

In your thirties something strange starts to happen. It’s a mere hiccup at first, an instant of hesitation. How old are you? Oh, I’m – you start confidently, but then you stop. You were going to say thirty-three, but you’re not. You’re thirty-five. And then you’re bothered, because you wonder if this is the beginning of the end. It is, of course, but it’s decades before you admit it.

I’m truly grateful for my microwave, which allows me to easily clarify butter, steam vegetables, and – when I am really lazy – feed my three kids in less than five minutes.

You work hard on a book and throw it out there and then it’s beyond your control.

The business of a newspaper is to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable” was one of the aphorisms his boss liked to quote.

Always carry a large flagon of whiskey in case of snakebite, and further, always carry a small snake.

It’s as though I’ve been sleepwalking and suddenly woken to find myself here.

Sometimes the monotony of bingo and sing alongs, ancient dusty people parked in the hallway in wheelchairs makes me long for death, particularly when – remember that I’m one of the ancient dusty people, filed away like some worthless chotski.

I am further back, surrounded on all sides by wailing men, their faces shiny with tears. Uncle Al promised three dollars and a bottle of Canadian whiskey to the man who puts on the best show. You’ve never seen such grief – even the dogs were howling.

She blamed the lack of real flowers on both weather and the war, and instead put four or five pieces of coal in glass bowls, added water, salt, and ammonia, before finally pouring a mixture of violet and blue ink over them. It was a complete mystery to me how this alchemy would result in anything resembling flowers, but they were “blooming” within the hour.