Danny could see it in their faces when they shook Steve’s hand—they’d have preferred him dead. Death allowed for the illusion of heroism. The maimed turned that illusion into an uncomfortable odor.

classically as well as romantically ugly because it means the cylinder is getting too much gas and not enough air.

Above us, outlined against the brilliant sky, dragons crowded every available perching space on the Rim. And the sun made a gold of every one of them.

On some level, my life has been wasted on me. After all, if I can’t remember it, who can?

Written By Nora Ephron

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