Isolation Offered Its Own Form Of Companionship

Gogol Remembers Having To Do The Same Thing When He Was Younger, When His Grandparents Died...he Remembers, Back Then, Being Bored By It, Annoyed At Having To Observe A Ritual No One Else He Knew Followed, In Honor Of People He Had Seen Only A Few Times In His Life...now, Sitting Together At The Kitchen Table At Six-thirty Every Evening, His Father's Chair Empty, This Meatless Meal Is The Only Thing That Seems To Make Sense.

And Yet She Could Not Forgive Herself. Even As An Adult, She Wished Only That She Could Go Back And Change Things: The Ungainly Things She’d Worn, The Insecurity She’d Felt, All The Innocent Mistakes She Made.

I Would Not Send A First Story Anywhere. I Would Give Myself Time To Write A Number Of Stories.

Fiction Is The Only Way I Know A Human Being Can Inhabit The Mind Of Another Human Being.

My Grandfather Says That's What Books Are For," Ashoke Said, Using The Opportunity To Open The Volume In His Hands. "to Travel Without Moving An Inch.