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’Tis with our judgments as our watches, none go just alike.

God is there between things, sitting at his own left hand.

Play hero, sunburned protagonist, awake in our dream.

Gail Godwin

The sloshed grownups had little to say to me. I loved it that I was alien.

Her mother always complained Sara was different after a night at Judy’s.

When I walked in, the kids applauded. They were like, “The poet’s back!”

What a good time we could have if we were happy to be who we are.

Her knees seemed about to give way, and he quickly grabbed her elbow.

Walking on Canal Street, I slipped on the curb and fell on my face.

All of those feelings—you do not have them, they have you.

The story of Wing Biddlebaum’s hands is worth a book in itself.

Your life is your own and then suddenly it belongs to someone else.

So sault means “jump,” as in sauter in France, but not in New France!

The world is a riddle of shape and texture, from sight to smell to sound.

I saw her drunk, with bleary eyes, tousled hair, and a hideous grin.

Lee has taken on several of the great novelists of the past century.

That piece of flesh you’re with is a high school student, a minor.

I have placed my thoughts for you in a nest of copper shavings.

You didn’t speak, your eyes lobbed incendiary shells over the harbor.

It dawned on me my passion was not for her but for the making-up.

If I weaseled out of Bible study a little early, he’d speed me to the gym.

The great season for reading is between eighteen and twenty-four.

Any white man without a servant was presumed to be in need of help.

“We must also buy twenty acres or so. Life is becoming impossible.”

Claim to be Choctaw or Cherokee. Claim to be a princess too.

“I know I am disabled. Technically. But I don’t feel that way.”

Wake up drenched in sweat, with fatigue that reaches to your marrow.