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X is for X-mas Concentrate your energies, your thoughts and your capital. Put all your eggs in one basket and then watch that basket, then all your Christmases can come at once!

[T]he wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile.

Marty, my mother used to say “Never get greedy with God.” I think what she meant was “Don’t dare ask for more if you already have what you need.”

GOD. Sometimes I think there might be a god out there, and that every once in a while he tunes in to see what we’re up to, and have a good laugh at how we like to dress him up in various costume. Robes, thorny crowns, yarmulkes and curls, saris and butt-hugging yoga pants. Male, female, a genderless reincarnation factory; a Mother Earth or a withholding Father Christmas. I would think it would amuse the hell out of him. That we’re all idolaters, worshiping figments of our own creation who bear no resemblance to him.Maybe he’s sitting in some alternate dimension somewhere, saying, ‘Shit, I didn’t even create the world! I was just cooking my dinner, not paying attention to the heat, and suddenly here was this big band and a few hours later, a bunch of dinosaurs…

I’ve missed you, Sebastian.””Have you, love?” He unfastened the buttons of her robe, the light eyes glittering with heat as her skin was revealed. “What part did you miss the most?””Your mind,” she said, and smiled at his expression.”I was hoping for a far more depraved answer than that.””Your mind is depraved,” she told him solemnly.He gave a husky laugh. “True.

Are You Ready for New Urban Fragrances?Yeah, I guess I’m ready, but listen:Perfume is a disguise. Since the middle ages, we have worn masks of fruit and flowers in order to conceal from ourselves the meaty essence of our humanity. We appreciate the sexual attractant of the rose, the ripeness of the orange, more than we honor our own ripe carnality.Now today we want to perfume our cities, as well; to replace their stinging fumes of disturbed fossils’ sleep with the scent of gardens and orchards. Yet, humans are not bees any more than they are blossoms. If we must pull an olfactory hood over our urban environment, let it be of a different nature.I want to travel on a train that smells like snowflakes.I want to sip in cafes that smell like comets.Under the pressure of my step, I want the streets to emit the precise odor of a diamond necklace.I want the newspapers I read to smell like the violins left in pawnshops by weeping hobos on Christmas Eve.I want to carry luggage that reeks of the neurons in Einstein’s brain.I want a city’s gases to smell like the golden belly hairs of the gods.And when I gaze at a televised picture of the moon, I want to detect, from a distance of 239,000 miles, the aroma of fresh mozzarella.

Christmas crept into Pine Cove like a creeping Christmas thing: dragging garland, ribbon, and sleigh bells, oozing eggnog, reeking of pine, and threatening festive doom like a cold sore under the mistletoe.

A well-read woman is a dangerous creature.

That does it,” said Jace. “I’m going to get you a dictionary for Christmas this year.””Why?” Isabelle said.”So you can look up ‘fun.’ I’m not sure you know what it means.