“Lie to me by the moonlight. Do a fabulous story.”
“Each night I lie down in a graveyard of memories. Moonlight spins a shroud about me. ”
“In that moonlit hour, I acquired a sense of the otherness of things. I liked the feeling the moonlight gave me, as if it wasn't the opposite of day, but its underside, its private side, when the fabulous purred on my snow-white sheet like some dark cat come in from the desert.”
“Tell me a story, even if it's a lie.”
“…I go through a story for lies. I might discover the lie of trying to show off. Sometimes they’re lies of character. Sometimes they are lies of writing the most beautiful sentence in the world that has nothing to do with the story.”
“The moonlight was enough. It would do.”