Stories Last Longer: But Only By Becoming

Well, Do You Do That Consciously?" Daily Alice Asked, Only Partly Of Cloud. "do What?" Cloud Said. "grow Up? No. Well. In A Sense. You See It's Inevitable, Or Refuse To. You Greet It Or Don't -- Take It In Trade, Maybe, For All You're Going To Lose Anyway. Or You Can Refuse, And Have What You've Got To Lose Snatched From You, And Never Take Payment -- Never See A Trade Is Possible.

She Had Always Lived Her Best Life In Dreams. She Knew No Greater Pleasure Than That Moment Of Passage Into The Other Place, When Her Limbs Grew Warm And Heavy And The Sparkling Darkness Behind Her Lids Became Ordered And Doors Opened; When Conscious Thought Grew Owl's Wings And Talons And Became Other Than Conscious.

First, She Wanted To Taste The Sweat That Shone On His Throat And Fragile Clavicle; Then He Chose To Undo The Tails Of Her Shirt, That She Had Tied Up Beneath Her Breasts; Then, But Then Impatient They Forgot About Taking Turns And Quarreled Silently, Eagerly Over Each Other, Like Pirates Dividing Treasure Long Sought, Long Imagined, Long Withheld.

God, He Thought, Her Eyes Are So Bright, Flashing, Deep, Full Of Promise, All Those Things Eyes Are In Books But Never Are In Life, And She Was His.

Seeing A Woman's Child Is Like Seeing A Woman Naked, In The Way It Changes How Her Face Looks To You, How Her Face Becomes Less The Whole Story.