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A snapshot of loneliness and vice in this powerful six-word story.

I would chase it to the shores of the lake where the killer waited.

Sitting on the edge, I leaned back and fell, wrist-deep, into the body of a deer.

Frank Conroy

Getting over being drunk makes you wonder why the hell you did that.

Being with Kate was like a circuit connecting, lighting everything up.

No salt tears, and a continent between her ashes and Father’s.

Bo could live with his contradictions. They were what made him whole.

It whispered a promise of great wealth, and I was listening.

I keep my mother separate from my father. They seem fine with this.

If all along we all had known the leaves we leafed would leave us

Of course the despicable wretch would beg her to forgive him again.

My mother said a woman’s handbag is more private than her body.

Love I know is the husk caught and throbbing under your gums.

A high roller gave her money to stay in his room for the weekend.

It is our nature to conform; it is a force which not many can resist.

Their marriage had dwindled to a separation and a running joke.

I yell at the boys: “What are you doing! Are you out of your minds?”

What that truth is doesn’t matter, finally, because of your persistence.

Do the work. Every day. Take a step back and see if you love it.

Husk was sturdy. He just breathed like it. Not like me. My lungs rattle.

It was just what it was. Sex with someone who was not her husband.

His beginnings, his genesis as a writer, and the fateful connections between life and art.

She wondered if tomorrow would fill her with so strange a stirring.

And so it was clear that Mia was still basically a teenager.

Your writing may need to be ruthless or amoral to be original.

Did you hear about the candidate who grabbed Hugh’s dick?

Of the sixteen candidates only eight would make the final cut.

I was born hating paths, apostasy. We came alive wrong for union.