She could not believe they believed this stuff.
When you feel your way along through life, there's so much you don't see coming.
It's not your job to understand me. It's not my job to understand you. It's your job to understand yourself and explain it to me.
I remember my infant outrage at age four when a man at our church told his little girl, "Wink at the nice girl, Sarah," and she blinked at me. "Good job," he said. I was appalled that he let his own daughter remain in ignorance for even one moment longer about the distinction between those two words.
Does the world need even one more aphorism? he said. I don't need Lydia Davis, she said, but I'm still glad she's there.
Each aphorism pops fully formed into my mind; then it gets tossed surreptitiously into the trench outside myself (which is where all of you are) and then, like a hand grenade, it either explodes immediately, or goes rolling along the duck boards barely noticed. Huh, will you look at that? I never know which it's going to do either.