from “Incarnations of Burned Children”
…the child had learned to leave himself and watch the whole rest unfold from a point overhead, and whatever was lost never thenceforth mattered, and the child’s body expanded and walked about and drew pay and lives its life untenanted, a thing among things, its self’s soul so much vapor aloft, falling as rain and then rising, the sun up and down like a yoyo.
David Foster Wallace
from: Oblivion and Other Stories
Entry Filed under: Fiction • Wallace, David Foster
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