“When he picked out the [gravesite] plot, my father had joked that he was moving, at last, to the suburbs.”

“My loneliness...still comes over me sometimes...It's a liminal, lost sensation of having wandered wide, endless boulevards, among rows of orange trees, winter butterflies, seasons reversed and out of order, dogs barking from behind fences meant to keep out intruders. It's not the place that impoverishes me but I who bring my own sense of poverty, of loss, to the place. It's a sense of near nothingness, as though I were not so much a blank slate as an erased chalkboard, still bearing illegible smudges of smoothed-over writing.”

“Erotic literarature is literature in which eroticism is the novel. It focuses on that. It also implies a certain degree of description, a certain hard core. And to find novels in which you have plot, character, literary quality, plus detailed and real moving descriptions of fucking is a rarity. There is a vibration which takes place in the erotic realm, which translating it into something else, demeans it and destroys it. You need real poetry to talk about that sort of thing.”

“If I ever get rich, I'm going to buy you an elephant.”

“it doesn't matter how you are looking..but how you want to look ....it matters.”

“He leans his face close to mine and wraps his fingers around my chin. His hand smells like metal. When was the last time he held a gun, or a knife?”

“There are men with guns up there. When they see me, they will kill me, if they can," Itell my father quietly. I search his eyes. "Should I let them?"He stares at me for a few seconds."Go," he says, "and God help you.”