My deranged mother has written another book. This one is called The Bough and is even worse that the others. I refer not to its quality—it exhibits t… - Donald Barthelme

I didn’t go to church because I was a black sheep. There were five children in my family and the males rotated the position of black sheep among us, the oldest one being the black sheep for a while while he was in his DWI period or whatever and then getting grayer as he maybe got a job or was in the service and then finally becoming a white sheep when he got married and had a grandchild. My sister was never a black sheep because she was a girl.

—There’s a thing the children say. —What do the children say? —They say: Will you always love me? —Always. —Will you always remember me? —Always. —Will you remember me a year from now? —Yes, I will. —Will you remember me two years from now? —Yes, I will. —Will you remember me five years from now? —Yes, I will. —Knock, knock. —Who’s there? —You see?

How does one conquer fear, Don B.?" "One takes a frog and sews it to one's shoe," he said. "The left or the right?" Don B. gave me a pitying look. "Well, you'd look mighty funny going down the street with only one frog sewed to your shoes, wouldn't you?" he said. "One frog on each shoe.