“Some days in late August at home are like this, the air thin and eager like this, with something in it sad and nostalgic and familiar...”
“Some stories are so familiar its like going home.”
“Some books are so familiar that reading them is like being home again.”
“Walking the streets of Charleston in the late afternoons of August was like walking through gauze or inhaling damaged silk.”
“It is possible, however, that the artist is both thin-skinned and prophetic and, like the canary lowered into the mine shaft to test the air, has caught a whiff of something lethal.”
“But now the joy is gone and the sadness is back, the sadness feels like something deserved, the price of some not-quite-forgotten betrayal.”