... Silence (can) Be The

These Are The Quicksilver Moments Of My Childhood I Cannot Remember Entirely. Irresistible And Emblematic, I Can Recall Them Only In Fragments And Shivers Of The Heart.

I Could Bear The Memory, But I Could Not Bear The Music That Made The Memory Such A Killing Thing.

Her Library Would Have Been Valuable To A Bibliophile Except She Treated Her Books Execrably. I Would Rarely Open A Volume That She Had Not Desecrated By Underlining Her Favorite Sections With A Ball-point Pen. Once I Had Told Her That I Would Rather See A Museum Bombed Than A Book Underlined, But She Dismissed My Argument As Mere Sentimentality. She Marked Her Books So That Stunning Images And Ideas Would Not Be Lost To Her.

I Do Not Have Any Other Way Of Saying It. I Think It Happens But Once And Only To The Very Young When It Feels Like Your Skin Could Ignite At The Mere Touch Of Another Person. You Get To Love Like That But Once.

My Mother Raised Me To Be A Writer.