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“When we heard the horn, we left—our faces wet—not looking back.”

won’t you celebrate with me that every day has tried to kill me

A rumour went round that the Australians had bulletproof clothing.

At Pompeii the little dog lay curled and did not rise but slept the deeper.

“The basis of literary friendship is mixing the poisoned bowl.”

Not the Olympics, the guard said. Just chuck yourself down the tube.

Sweet breath hard breath. Every breath a stone-cold bird in thaw.

Her cheek was like a plum about to burst and you had to close your eyes.

She was painting a bedroom, trying to be a good mother, wife, Catholic.

“O youth! The strength of it, the faith of it, the imagination of it!”

Dr. Zee knows his son is struggling up out of some chemical fog.