Lisa Grunwald

“You're into happiness?" the technician says, her eyes never leaving the computer screen."I'm writing a book about it," I say."About happiness?" she says."Yes," I say." Didn't the Dali Lama already write that book?”

“Look," I say at last. 'You know me. You know my life. I always thought-or hoped-""You thought what?""I just want to be happy," I finally say.She stares at me hard."You have been," she says.”

“I hope we're not intruding,' she croons, sweetly. "Well, I say, "I was trying to get a little work done." I give T.J. a fuck-you-I-don't-look-weird-get-the-hell-out-of-here-look, but apparently only I know what the look is meant to convey.”

“Michael stands at the dresser, putting his comb into his back right pocket, his wallet into his back left pocket, his keys into his front right pocket. A place for everything , and everything in its proper place. Except, perhaps, his wife.”

“The language of sex seemed to echo with Shop: as a Playboy, apparently, you got hammered or plastered, then you nailed or screwed or drilled a woman who was built, or had a rack.”

“Clearly I have a talent now: I can trace every single thing back to a certain, scared place in the map of my heart.”

“There is a strong connection between our ability to use our hands in useful work, and our ability to find happiness in daily life... daily repetitive tasks (are) the compulsive calmness that infuses our pedestrian chores with poetry. - Annie Modessitt”

“But 'contentment'. Is that happiness? Or is that only resignation wearing a funny hat?”

“I slide down between the sheets beside him, like a secret letter slipped into the safety of an envelope. And dream of ancient places, where everyone is young.”