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"God knows all about boats"

He imagined he could see the very faces of the stars; pale, the were, and smiling gently, as if they had spent so much time above the world, watching the scrambling and the joy and the pain of the people below them, that they could not help being amused every time another little human believed itself the center of its world, as each of us does.

The valley below, the rock underfoot, and the mountain before him will outlast him. On the scale of this land, he is nothing; words like "shame" and "guilt" mean little here; and reputation is no more than a fleeting blue flame, an evanescent spirt in a brandy glass.

The moon is still there in the sky but it might fall at any moment.

"Stories are people... Our stories go in every direction, but sometimes, if we're lucky, our stories join into one, and for a while, we're less alone."

Then after his frailty finally overwhelmed him, and after their mother died, there was still the throng of family, the bantering and bickering child cousins who distracted and disrupted adult conversations often enough to ward off inquiry into the specifics of her own situation.

There was never a future for them together, and she had understood that all along, just a she had known all along that the school bus had to go over the cliff.

"I'd like to think of it like childhood", she said. "Something I once had that I shouldn't expect to have again."

"The loss is in her skin, along her backbone."

Or maybe it's that most of life is so much stranger than language is able to make room for, so we say the same deas things and hope maybe the who and how of what is said can make it into what we mean.

There are so many streets like this, where I have been so many different people.

There are so many streets like this, where I have been si many different people.