The Many Assassinations of Samir, the Seller of Dreams

To everyone we love we give a knife. The knife is shaped to pass through the bones of our chests like a key in a lock. Nothing else can cut our hearts so deeply.

Once you are a liar, no one will believe anything about you, even if you show them your broken heart. And a broken heart is the most believable thing in the world.

The lesson is that prayer is not for the moon to stop for us. It is for us to stop and the consider the work of heaven.

I divorced her in my imagined future and gave her back to God for safekeeping and offered my own heart to Him for repairs.

But let this be a lesson: Life is only disappointing if there is nothing after it. Otherwise, life is our time in a craftsman’s hands—the way a piece of wood is carved into a spoon by a carpenter or reeds are woven by a basket weaver. We grow into whatever we allow to be made of us, and we’re sold—like the spoon or the basket. Our afterlife isn’t the market or the workshop. It’s in the home of our master, whatever master we have spent our lives serving.

But wouldn't it be nice if love was all around us, like life and death? Wouldn't it be nice if love was inevitable like the other two? That you could be sure you'd find someone to love and love you in return?

Wouldn't it be nice if love was always around us like life and death? Wouldn't it be nice if love was inevitable like the other two? That you could be sure you'd find someone to love and love you in return? Or a mother, or a brother, or a good friend? Wouldn't these be the promises that made life worth while?

Was there no end to the indignities suffered by the weak and infirm for the conveniences of the strong and well-fed?

He had betrayed God and wanted to hide from him, the way children hide, sitting in the open and covering their eyes.