Christine

I think part of being a parent is trying to kill your kids.

Love is old slaughterer. Love is not blind. Love is a canibal with extremely acute vision. Love is insectile, it is always hungry

If being a kid is about learning how to live, then being a grown-up is about learning how to die.

I always like to see enlightened parents like that; it gives me hope for the future.

As soon as you have a child, you see your own tombstone

I once heard about some millionaire who had a stolen Rembrandt in his basement where no one but him could see it. I could understand that guy. I don't mean that Arnie was a Rembrandt, or even a world-class wit, but I could understand the attraction of knowing about something good ... something that was good but still a secret.

Maybe that’s one of the ways you recognize really lonely people . . . they can always think of something neat to do on rainy days. You can always call them up. They’re always home. Fucking always. For

His single-minded purpose. His unending fury.

I felt as conspicuous as a baby whale in a goldfish pond.

Love is the enemy. Yes...the poets continually and sometimes willfully mistake love. Love is the old slaughterer. Love is not blind. Love is a cannibal with extremely acute vision. Love is insectile; it is always hungry.

I had a moment to wonder just what he did at David Emerson's, which really was where Libertyville's elite bought. Was he a salesman? I could see him showing some smart young lady around, saying, Here's one fuck of a nice couch, ma'am, and look at this goddam settee, we sure didn't have nothing like that on Guadalcanal when those fucking stoned-out Japs came at us with their Maxwell House swords.

There was a momentary added weight in my stomach, almost like a sickness. There’s a name for that sort of sickness. I think it’s called falling in love with your best friend’s girl. “You’ve

Leigh left college to be married, and then it was goodbye Drew and hello Taos. I went to her wedding with hardly a qualm. Nice fellow. Drove a Honda Civic. No problems there.

Why doesn’t Arnie ever come over anymore, Mom?” Ellie asked. “Did he and Dennis have a fight?” “No, honey,” my mother answered. “I don’t think so. But when friends get older .. . sometimes they grow apart.” “That’s never going to happen to me,” Ellie said, with all the awesome conviction of the just-turned-fifteen. I

I woke up. I didn’t scream. That night I kept the scream in my throat. Just barely. I sat up in my bed, a cold puddle of moonlight caught in a lapful of sheet, and I thought, Died suddenly. That night I didn’t get back to sleep so quickly.

It was also easy to imagine the good smells, the laughter as they sat down. Easy to imagine . . . but probably a mistake. It

You’re smiling again,” Regina said. “I was just thinking about how much I love you both,” Arnie said. His father looked at him, surprised and touched; there was a soft gleam in his mother’s eyes that might have been tears. They really believed it. The shitters. •

If being a kid is about learning how to live, then being a grown-up is about learning how to die. The

I find that the more I dislike adults, the more apt I am to call them Sir. “What?

I find that the more I dislike adults, the more apt I am to call them

I sat there behind the wheel of my car, not sure what I should do, wishing I was someplace else, anyplace else, trying on shoes at Thom McAn’s, filling out a credit application in a discount store, standing in front of a pay toilet stall with diarrhea and no dime. Anyplace, man. It didn’t have to be Monte Carlo. Mostly I sat there wishing I was older.

I was scared,” she said, and then uttered a shaky little laugh. “I guess you don’t know what scared is until one of your kids screams in the dark.” “Ugh,