Inevitably, our children come to see us as we are. Not as we wish we were, or even as we should be.

Over the years, I have developed a visceral reaction to families and victims expressing surprise at tragedy. Why are we surprised? Why do we forget we are mortal? Bad, bad things happen everywhere, every day. Humans, for better or worse, harbor this feeling that we – individually – are special. A patch of ice or a pea-sized blood clot makes a mockery of that illusion in a heartbeat. We are not special at all.

Just as with your women, you attempt to render existence in terms of perfection,” said Billy. “Life is a rough approximation of things hoped for. You need to revel in the misfires. In the scars and dings. You need to develop a taste for regret. It’s the malt vinegar of emotions-drink it straight from the bottle and it’ll eat yer guts. Add a sprinkle here and there and it puts a living edge on things.

Even at twenty below, snow brightens the bleak earth.

I began to realize how this fire department was a means of reentry, of rediscovering the place I had left a decade before, of recapturing my sense of place one tragedy at a time.

In specific moments of ground-level clarity, I recognize the dumbing down of the nation for what it is: an act of charity committed specifically for knotheads like me.

Seed catalogs are responsible for more unfulfilled fantasies than Enron and Playboy combined.

If you ask what the true cost is for our status quo, it's worth the price.

I have not increased rents, period. Maybe I have done them an injustice because I haven't.

I leave today with a better feeling and understanding of the courts,