I wouldn’t be caught dead sacrificing myself for this country.

Home. The word circled comfortably in my mouth like bubble gum, swished around sweetly soft and satisfying. Home. Try saying it aloud to yourself. Home. Isn’t it like taking a bite of something lovely? If only we could eat words.

The irony of life is like a brothel without prostitutes--but don't you worry, prostitutes don't need of a brothel, to exercise their profession.

An ounce of wit is worth a pound of argument

She washed he hands,then looked at my side. "you haven't even had it stitched?" She said incredulously.

"I've been rather busy," I said. "With the running like hell and hiding all night.

So it was a crossroads summer, when the universe seemed to stand perilously still like an egg wobbling on a precipice, a regular rite of passage summer that saw us traverse the hazardous divide between the illusions of boyhood and the far more pernicious deceptions of maturity, et cetera.