And I keep thinking too of the more conventional wisdom: namely, that the pursuit of pure beauty is a trap, a fast track to bitterness and sorrow, that beauty has to be wedded to something more meanin...
All those layers of silence upon silence.
Why does that obstinate little voice in our heads torment us so?' he said, looking round the table. 'Could it be because it reminds us that we are alive, of our mortality, of our individual souls - wh...
The novel is about five students of classics who are studying with a classics professor, and they take the ideas of the things that they're learning from him a bit too seriously, with terrible consequ...
I believe, in a funny way, the job of the novelist is to be out there on the fringes and speaking for an experience that has not really been spoken for.
When what she needed was something concrete, some small final memory to slip its hand in hers and accompany her—sightless now, stumbling—through this sudden desert of existence which stretched before...
Unbearable claustrophobia of the soul,
Telephone, Myriam’s not my wife! This— he handed
Passed—Snoopy, Ronald McDonald,
Never the way it seems—all good, all bad.
It would be a long, long time before I heard anything from Boris again.
Highboys
He had an indefinable look of privilege gone wrong,
Enough to show the black
You want to know what Classics are? said a drunk Dean of Admissions to me at a faculty party a couple of years ago. I'll tell you what Classics are. Wars and homos.
Sometimes it's about playing a poor hand well.
Picasso says. ‘Bad artists copy, good artists steal.
Over and over, I kept thinking I’ve got to go home and then, for the millionth time, I can’t.
Not quite what one expected, but once it happened one realized it couldn't be any other way.
My heart - which, thrilled at my daring, had held its breath for a moment or two - began suddenly to beat quite wildly