I was there to get a Ph.D. in English literature. That’s not true. I was there to read a lot of books and to discuss them with bright, insightful, book-loving people, an expectation that I...

Chicken Soup for the Soul”. You’ve heard of these books, am I right? We’ve all heard of them. But I wonder if you’re aware of just how many “Chicken Soup” books exist on the planet....

But some things, no matter how unlikely, are just supposed to happen. You know what I mean. Some things just smack of the future and feel part of an overarching rightness.

I can’t stand lies. Probably no one can. Probably everyone is, to varying degrees, allergic to them, both spiritually and physically. Lies make me feel low and ignoble, and also itchy, like there’s sand under...

No one is ever quite ready; everyone is always caught off guard. Parenthood chooses you. And you open your eyes, look at what you’ve got, say “Oh, my gosh,” and recognize that of all the...

She’s the main character in her story, just like I’m the main character in mine.

The story was called ‘Annika and the Bears.’ The beginning of the story is really the end, and Annika is staring wide-eyed into new velvet-black darkness. The eyes she stares with were brown once, sparkling...

I know how syrupy this sounds, how dull, provincial, and possibly whitewashed, but what can I do? Happy childhoods happen

I don’t think love is blind, true love is probably the most clear-eyed state of being there is.’‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe with true love, you see and you love anyway…

Soon, the two of them would leave this spot. . . walk into the house and into a whole changed world. . .

It was the first time! Just because there weren’t fireworks the first time doesn’t mean there will never be fireworks. We’re human; we’re adults; we teach each other; we communicate; fireworks don’t just go off,...

The sight made her ache. How can I not touch you? she thought hopelessly, and then she was doing it, her fingers on his wrist. He didn’t jump or even look at her, just stopped...

Inside plum trees stood in a row, flowers lifted their pale throats to the moon and stars, a magnolia held its tight-closed buds like white candles in its green hands.

Conversationally, we were Fred and Ginger — spin, slide, shuffle, bend.

But I’ve always been a sucker for externals alone: the shape, the shine, what the surface suggests to my palm. So mechanically disinclined it’s verging on criminal, I never understood the beauty of an object’s...