It was better never to have been born - never to have wanted anything, never to have hoped for anything.
It does not to do be frightened of things about which you know nothing,' he said. 'You are like children. Afraid of the dark.
If he had his wits about him Bunny would surely keep his mouth shut; but now, with his subconscious mind knocked loose from its perch and flapping in the hollow corridors of his skull as erratically a...
I wanted her to know just how much I loved her while also letting her know that she bore not one particle of blame for not loving me back.But I wouldn’t say that. It was rosepetals I wanted to throw,...
He was a bad painter and a vicious gossip, with a vocabulary composed almost entirely of obscenities, guttural verbs, and the word postmodernist.
From my chair I had a clear view of Hobie’s Noah’s Ark: paired elephants, zebras, carven beasts marching two by two, clear down to tiny hen and rooster and the bunnies and mice bringing up the rear. A...
Death is the mother of beautyAnd what is beauty?TerrorWell said. Beauty is rarely soft or consolatory. Quite the contrary, genuine beauty is always quite alarming
CHAPTER 3
But the intimacy, the smallness, also made me feel shut out; and I found myself hurrying past the inviting little doorways with my head down, very aware of all the convivial Sunday-morning lives unrol...
Because: if our secret defines us, as opposed to the face we show the world: then the painting was the secret that raised me above the surface of life and enabled me to know who I am. And it's there:...
And, increasingly, I find myself fixing on that refusal to pull back. Because I don’t care what anyone says or how often or winningly they say it: no one will ever, ever be able to persuade me that li...
And the heart-shock of believing, for only a moment, that you might just have what could never be yours.
Everything takes me longer than I expect. It's the sad truth about life.
Às vezes queremos o que queremos mesmo sabendo que isso vai nos matar. Não podemos escapar de quem somos.
He’d probably just crawl in the corner and starve. Like a hamster you forgot to feed.
A scrap of seventeenth-century sunlight compressed into dots and pixels,
Strange, I thought, as I jumped a sheet of water at the curb, how a few hours could change everything—or rather, how strange to find that the present contained such a bright shard of the living past,...
Starched shirts and suits fresh from the cleaners’ went a long, long way toward hiding a multitude of sins.
Sometimes I wondered exactly what it might take to break Andy out of his math-nerd turret: a tidal wave? Decepticon invasion? Godzilla tromping down Fifth Avenue? He was a planet without an atmosphere...
Side by side they were very much alike, in similarity less of lineament than of manner and bearing, a correspondence of gestures which bounced and echoed between them so that a blink seemed to reverbe...