Tuesday Mooney Talks To Ghosts

“He was in an extra rage that Labor Day. Against his own decline. His death. I think he actually believed that, because of who he was and what he had, he wouldn’t die. Not because he took great care of himself, because he didn’t, but because he couldn’t imagine being anything less or other than what he was.”

never to speak, in actual words, of anything more personal than how they felt about dinner.

The kind of guy some kids think is a child-eating troll but other kids suspect, correctly, is a secret wizard.

Performance, by comparison, had always felt more authentic. Performance was alive, so performance had to die. A piece or a song or a play was designed to last for only as long as it took to perform, to begin and end and echo in the mind. But he had to admit there was something noble, too, in the pursuit of permanence, and something beautiful and sa

Libraries had always made her feel like a kid, in a good way: secret and safe and taken care of, rocked to sleep in a cocoon of books.

Having someone care about you makes you want to give a shit, especially if you’re having trouble caring about yourself.

“We spend our whole lives becoming worthy. Of ourselves. Our mysteries, our solutions, the fruits of our quests.”