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He never stopped reminding me that I was born in Harmony, Georgia.

Without a working title, a poem could muddle meaning, confuse purpose.

A rumour went round that the Australians had bulletproof clothing.

Mrs. Ballinger is one of the ladies who pursue Culture in bands.

“The basis of literary friendship is mixing the poisoned bowl.”

You’ve seen her almost every day, going to and from the gardens.

The damn dog has been brainwashed. He doesn’t know
us anymore.

There were classes where you became a family. It was a kind of love affair.

We began to obsess over water, where it came from, where it was going.

Sweet breath hard breath. Every breath a stone-cold bird in thaw.

“O youth! The strength of it, the faith of it, the imagination of it!”

It was the way of the world: everybody wanted someone else.