I Just Write The Books That I

Later On, When I Tried To Imagine How I Might Have Ruined Things, That Would Occur To Me - That I'd So Rarely Resisted, That I Hadn't Made It Hard Enough For Him. Maybe It Was Like Gathering Your Strength And Hurling Your Body Against A Door You Believe To Be Locked, And Then The Door Opens Easily - It Wasn't Locked At All - And You're Standing Looking Into The Room, Trying To Remember What It Was You Thought You Wanted.

I Wanted To Hold Happiness In Reserve, Like A Bottle Of Champagne. I Postponed It Because I Was Afraid, Because I Overvalued It, And Then I Didn't Want To Use It Up, Because What Do You Wish For Then?

After I’d Told Her – The Mall, The Taxi, Cross Stroking My Hair – She Said, ‘did He Kiss You?’ ‘john And Martin Totally Would Have Seen That,’ I Said, And As I Felt Myself Implying The Circumstances Had Prevented Our Kissing, I Thought Maybe This Was Why You Told Stories To Other People – For How Their Possibilities Enlarged In The Retelling.

It's Never That Hard For Me To Imagine What It Must Feel Like To Be Someone Else, Whether It's An American Teenage Girl Or A Japanese Octogenarian Man

If You’re A Parent In 2013, You Have To Get Your Hands On This Book. Wise, Engrossing, And So Real That I Fear Senior Has Been Spying Inside My House, All Joy Is A Must-read For Those Of Us Whose Lives Have Been Enriched And Derailed By Having Kids.