1739 43 21
|
Zach lifts his glass. “Look at us! We eat like kings. Kings!”
|
68188
|
A year after the disappearance, George Putnam, a.k.a. “Mr. Earhart,” stands by the dining room sideboard in his North Hollywood home.
|
1264622
|
Years later, I found a map in my brother’s lonely apartment in L.A. “Bury me here,” he instructed in a scrawl on a map he had drawn of Woodlawn Cemetery.
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15911811
|
She hardly twitches. Her face regards the stars. If her body is an object, it is the isthmus before global warming.
They want to find the source of the glacier in her eyes that is always melting. Maybe they like a woman who cries.
|
3833
|
My uncle's death is now his dearest possession.
|
120422
|
We see only the results which a man's choices make out of his raw material . . . when his body dies all that will fall off him, and the real central man, the thing that chose, that made the best or the worst out of this material, will stand naked. All sorts of things…
|
1092013
|
I am not sure why I favor forgotten detritus from God's great tumbler...
|
159107
|
“Sure.” he said, the whiskey dripping down his stubbly chin.
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23767
|
Now it was, distorted as it was through the sepia tones of mourning. It's that sweet spot - the place where fantasy and memory collide. It's what makes reality livable.
|
7894
|
His flat hat, a fur-trimmed streimel, lay on his head like a platter of dead minks, the man's Shirley Temple side-locks dangling like pigtails.
|
70910
|
It was the absence of small sounds he felt most. The clink of a spoon against china, a floorboard’s distant creak, the swish of that old, broken-toothed comb through her hair. A thousand tiny sounds that had proved he wasn’t alone.
|
117020
|
Benton showed her his old room, a shrine of old posters and records. But it had been cleaned out, made to look like a guest room. “Kiss me,” Benton said. “April.” “That was just a name, so don't get any…
|
3700
|
In the wake of a family tragedy, Nan, a pensive young woman from rural Vermont, moves to New York City for college. As she makes her way through her new urban life, with all its dangers and excitements, she is haunted by the home she left behind, remember
|
115400
|
No news spreads faster than news of a death. Word of the death of a child can be heard simultaneously in a thousand places. . . the word spread by telephone, in back yards from clothesline to clothesline, with whispers in grocery stores, in the looks on faces stunned into…
|
1600
|
His flesh was the gray of Swiss lakes, but he might animate any time now and simplify everything.
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