Is this a mild winter or a harsh winter?
If your child thinks you’re guilty of something, right or wrong, then you’re guilty.
If there is a secular equivalent of standing in a great spired Cathedral with marble pillars and streams of mystic light slanting through two-tier Gothic windows, it would be watching children in thei...
I was always younger than anyone around me. One day it began to change.
I think we ought to have our intercourse now.
His stillness was commanding. I felt myself getting whiter by the second. What does it mean to become white? How does it feel to see Death in the flesh, come to gather you in? I was scared to the marr...
The writer is the person who stands outside society, independent of affiliation and independent of influence.
In a repressive society, a writer can be deeply influential, but in a society that's filled with glut and repetition and endless consumption, the act of terror may be the only meaningful act.
What did it mean, the first time, a thinking creature looked deeply into another's eyes? Did it take a hundred thousand years before this happened or it was the first thing they did, transcendingly, t...
This makes me feel ritually unclean.
This is how the dark-skinned kid seems to open to the world,how the bloodrush of a dozen strides brings him into eloquence.
There is no lie in war or preparation of war that can't be defended.
Their bumper sticker read GUN CONTROL IS MIND CONTROL. In situations like this, you want to stick close to people in right-wing fringe groups.
The whole country's going to puke blood when they read it.
The letters released something, maybe a sense that he was not alone, that the world was a place where travelers in language could know the same things.
Talent is everything; sanity is nothing.
Steffie took my hand and we walked past the fruit bins, an area that extended about forty-five yards along one wall. The bins were arranged diagonally and backed my mirrors that people accidentally pu...
Pause for a moment, you wretched weakling, and take stock of yourself.
Mirrors and images. Or sex and love. These are two separate systems that we miserably try to link.
If you could stretch a given minute, what would you find between its unstuck components? Probably some kind of astral madness. A bleak comprehension of the final size of things.