Speaking of remarkably tenuous segues. . .

Gosh, I hope they know I don't give a damn.

Last time he borrowed a metaphor of mine, it came back broken.

When we breathe out, we die a little bit, and when we breathe in, we are reborn. Everybody dies, the trick is to not stay dead.

This is why I burned those photos.

He carved a path through the autumn evening, leaves jumping before his boots and cartwheeling around his coattails.

"But wait, if you're Hilda, who have I been sleeping with these last few days?"

I love my toaster for who I am when I'm with it.

Children are the foot soldiers of entropy; they destroy the world to remake it in their image.

He came from the "function follows form" school of design; he made things, then figured out what they were good for.

Less bad is not the same as more good.

As I worship at the altar of abstraction, I am yet bound by specifics.

Pity the poor xenophobic neophile.

Tuna is no more a fish than bacon is a meat.

2 + 2 = 4. . . it's funny 'cuz it's true!

It read, "Someday we'll all look back on this T-shirt and laugh."

I'm sorry, you must have me mistaken for someone who would have a witty rejoinder.

"Why does it hurt so much?" she thought, and twisted the knife again.

Everything true has already been said; only liars can be original.

On the bread aisle at the inconvenience store you'll find wheat stalks and millstones.

Life is the fracture zone where chaos and order collide. You may be in love with one or the other, but don't forget you need both.

"Touch the leaf!" he said, as if it was the most important thing in the world. For all I know, it was.

I wonder what whale milk tastes like. I bet it's creamy!

She felt she was being dishonest, wearing her hair that way; anyone could tell she was not that kind of girl.

Class clown and teacher's pet at the same time? Talk about eager to please!

Moderation in all things does not make good art.

Even when she knew the cops were on to her, she just kept on dancing.

If life is what happens when you're making other plans, what happens when you stop planning?

The author's body of work, when seen from low-Earth orbit, resembles nothing so much as the exoskeleton of some hitherto undiscovered Precambrian life form.

There is nothing more slippery than the illusion of certainty.

We sat there, watching a crow express its dominion over an empty chip bag.