It seemed to proclaim itself a mystery, but one there was no point in solving - an ongoing low-grade mystery.
The writer is [...] the work's way of getting itself written
I noticed that he was an Irish setter, rust-colored. He noticed that I was a Welsh sculptor, buff-colored (no, really, what did he notice? how does he think?) I reflected that he was probably a nice d...
Love, which is a kind of permission to come closer than ordinary norms of good behavior might usually sanction.- Back rubs.- Which enables us to see each other without clothes on, for example, in lust...
--Why are we fighting them?--They're mad. We're sane.--How do we know?--That we're sane?--Yes.--Am I sane?--To all appearances.--And you, do you consider yourself sane?--I do.--Well, there you have it...
What you don’t understand is, it’s like somebody walks up to you and says, I have a battleship I can’t use, would you like to have a battleship. And you say, yes yes, I’ve never had a battleship, I’ve...
There were reactions. Some people found the balloon 'interesting'. As a response this seemed inadequate to the immensity of the balloon, the suddenness of its appearance over the city; on the other ha...
Tenemos putrefactores, plagas y óxidos capaces de atacar su alfabeto. Estos son la leche. Tenemos un producto químico para encoger sus cabañas que penetra las fibras del bambú provocando que las choza...
Art is not difficult because it wishes to be difficult, but because it wishes to be art.
97. I approached the symbol, with its layers of meaning, but when I touched it, it changed into only a beautiful princess.98. I threw the beautiful princess headfirst down the mountain to my acquainta...
Well chaps first I'd like to say a few vile things more or less at random, not only because it is expected of me but also because I enjoy it.
The horsewife! The very basebone of the American plethora! The horsewife! Without whom the entire structure of civilian life would crumble! Without the horsewife, the whole raison d'être of our existe...
The combinatory agility of words, he wrote in Not-Knowing, the exponential generation of meaning once they’re allowed to go to bed together, allows the writer to surprise himself, makes art possible,...
The President looked out of his window. He was not very happy. I worry about Bill, Hubert, Henry, Kevin, Edward, Clem, Dan and their lover, Snow White. I sense that all is not well with them. Now, loo...
The Dead Father was slaying, in a grove of music and musicians. First he slew a harpist and then a performer upon the serpent and also a banger upon the rattle and also a blower of the Persian trumpet...
I wanted to say a certain thing to a certain man, a certain true thing that had crept into my head. I opened my head, at the place provided, and proceeded to pronounce the true thing that lay languish...
Have you noticed the weather? asked Thomas. All turned to look for the weather.
Truth, as Bergson knew, is a hard apple, whether one is throwing it or catching it.
The confusing signals, the impurity of the signal, gives you verisimilitude, as when you attend a funeral and notice that it's being poorly done.
Pia was chopping up an enormous cabbage, a cabbage big as a basketball. The cabbage was of an extraordinary size. It was a big cabbage. That’s a big cabbage, Edward said. Big, Pia said.