I stare at her for a long moment. I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. Sara Gruen More Quotes by Sara Gruen More Quotes From Sara Gruen When you are five, you know your age down to the month. Even in your twenties, you know how old you are. I'm twenty-three you say, or maybe twenty-seven. But then in your thirties, something strange starts to happen. It is a mere hiccup at first, an instant of hesitation. How old are you? Oh, I'm--you start confidently, but then you stop. You were going to say thirty-three, but you are not. You're thirty-five. And then you're bothered, because you wonder if this is the beginning of the end. It is, of course, but it's decades before you admit it. Sara Gruen months age firsts Keeping up the appearance of having all your marbles is hard work, but important. Sara Gruen aging hard-work important Life is the most spectacular show on earth. Sara Gruen earth shows life-is The only thing that makes me crazier than writing is not writing. Sara Gruen writing When will people learn that just because you can make something doesn’t mean you should? Sara Gruen should mean people When two people are meant to be together, they will be together. It's fate. Sara Gruen fate elephants two It's just a crazy damned life, that's all. Sara Gruen crazy Although, pretending not to notice is almost worse than noticing. Sara Gruen noticing pretending How is it that everyone on this train has so much alcohol?" "We always head to Canada at the beginning of the season," she says taking her seat again. "Their laws are much more civilized. Cheers. Sara Gruen alcohol cheer law I cling to my anger with every ounce of humanity left in my ruined body, but it's no use. It slips away, like a wave from shore. I am pondering this sad fact when I realize the blackness of sleep is circling my head. It's been there awhile, biding it's time and growing closer with each revolution. I give up on rage, which at this point has become a formality, and make a mental note to get angry again in the morning. Then I let myself drift, because there's really no fighting it. Sara Gruen giving-up sleep morning Sometimes I think that if I had to choose between an ear of corn or making love to a woman, I'd choose the corn. Not that I wouldn't love to have a final roll in the hay - I am a man yet, and something never die - but the thought of those sweet kernels bursting between my teeth sure sets my mouth to watering. It's fantasy, I know that. Neither will happen. I just like to weight the options, as though I were standing in front of Solomon: a final roll in the hay or an ear of corn. What a wonderful dilemma. Sometimes I substitute an apple for the corn. Sara Gruen sweet men thinking The more distressing the memory, the more persistent it's presence. Sara Gruen distressing persistent memories Sometimes I think if I had to choose between an ear of corn or making love to a woman, I'd choose the corn. Sara Gruen making-love ears thinking I have to convince myself that this is not a pointless life, even the body is telling me so. Sara Gruen pointless convince body Honey, I plan to marry you the moment the ink is dry on that death certificate. Sara Gruen dry ink honey Sometimes when you get older — and I’m not talking about you, I’m talking generally, because everyone ages differently — things you think on and wish on start to seem real. And then you believe them, and before you know it they’re part of your history, and if someone challenges you on them and says they’re not true — why, then you get offended because you can’t remember the first part. All you know is that you’ve been called a liar. Sara Gruen real liars believe You do right by me, I'll show you a life most suckers can't even dream of. Sara Gruen sucker shows dream I stroke her lightly, memorizing her body. I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin. I lie motionless, savoring the feeling of her body against mine. I'm afraid to breathe in case I break the spell. Sara Gruen skins feelings lying I don't like outlining, because books are organic things. Sometimes a book doesn't want to be written in a certain way. Sara Gruen want book way He stares at me, and then leans back in his chair. "He's ill, Jacob." I say nothing. "He's a paragon schnitzophonic." "He's what?!" "Paragon schnitzophonic," repeats Uncle Al. "You mean paranoid schizophrenic?" "Sure. Whatever. But the bottom line is he's mad as a hatter. Sara Gruen mad uncles mean
