How did it die?" he asked. "Short circuit," I said. "Old and frayed wires." He looked at me like I was senile. "Could have been disease. Violence. Or, sometimes, things die because we don't love them enough.
How could you love something so destructive?" I ask. "Because this wolf doesn't care if your heart is whole or not," you say. "It tastes just the same.
The impulse to tell the truth was not as great as the fear of being left off the page.
To break the silence the old man said the first thing that came to his mind: "Loneliness is a type of violence.
I don't think my moped could outrun a cheetah." "Hun," Claire says. "There are more important things you need to outrun, and a moped isn't going to help you with any of those.
