“My father says most people who say they like poetry only pretend to like it.' 'I guess you like it?' 'I love it very much.' Her long hair swirled as she shook her head to correct herself. That's redundant. The… — Laird Koenig Copy Share Image
“Giving and taking comfort in everything they could give and take, every part of them sought to make themselves one till it was impossible… — Laird Koenig Copy Share Image
“One Sunday evening when it was very hot and breathlessly still we sere sitting here in this room in the dusk. He switched on the record player. Liszt. We sat. As I say, here. In this very room. We listened to the piece. Neither of us said a word. That's when he took my hand and we went out into… — Laird Koenig Copy Share
“How did I know how to do that to a body? Is that what you want to know?" The boy, holding the tea tray,… — Laird Koenig Copy Share Image
“The night, a living presence, was in constant motion, shifting itself, sighing, breathing. She wondered if perhaps it, too, was trying to get warm.” — Laird Koenig Copy Share Image
“The game is pretending. It's going through the motions of life. But it's not living. The game is for people who want rules because… — Laird Koenig Copy Share Image
“My father says most people who say they like poetry only pretend to like it.' 'I guess you like it?' 'I love it very… — Laird Koenig Copy Share Image
