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I had in fact stolen my first book when I was fourteen–a paperback edition of Dracula; the second was Nik Cohn’s Awopbopaloobopalapbamboom, the Paladin edition, a lovely thing with a Guy Peellart illustration of Elvis on the jacket. But now I couldn’t be stopped. I stole a first edition of Scoop–Wa…

In fact the trouble I was having with ethics was that I’d never thought about them before–in any sense. I had opinions on almost every subject, could argue any position and believed in almost nothing. I grew up, not necessarily with the belief, but with the feeling powerfully impressed on me, that …

There’s a real closeness between imagination and forgiveness. I mean that in a phenomenological way. If you notice where you go when you have to forgive someone, it’s the place of supply, the place of extra. I think it’s worth spending a lot of time attending to that, so that when chance or fate or…

We slept one either side of him in the huge bed, in most of our clothes. He was in gray jersey shorts. He smelled expensive; I remember that. I remember the expensive-feeling hotel room darkness, too, and thinking that I was there on false pretenses, really, that it was like being thrown forward in…

There was something of the quality of a miracle about it. Like atonement or forgiveness, a life given to her that she didn’t deserve. She and Peter found a new apartment so as to have more room. And she finally relented⁠—⁠they bought a house on Cabot Lake. It made more sense to her now, to have thi…