No one should ever be forced upon those in grief, and all over-emotional people, no matter how near or dear, should be barred absolutely. Although the knowledge that their friends love them and sorrow...
No one could have missed the reservoir of self-pity, the quickness to blame, the narrowing of the eyes, as if in wildlife documentary, when things did not go his [Clinton] way. That famous tendency of...
NOTHING APPLIES, I print with the magnetized IBM pencil. What does apply, they ask later, as if the word nothing were ambiguous, open to interpretation, a questionable fragment of an Icelandic rune.
Mourning has its place but also its limits.
Most of our platitudes notwithstanding, self-deception remains the most difficult deception.
Most of our platitudes notwithstanding, self-deception remains the most difficult deception. The tricks that work on others count for nothing in that very well-lit back alley where one keeps assignati...
Marxism in this country had even been an eccentric and quixotic passion. One oppressed class after another had seemed finally to miss the point. The have-nots, it turned out, aspired mainly to having....
Madness, it became convenient to believe quite early on, came with the territory, on the order of earthquakes.
In one guise or another, Indians always are. Again, it is a question of recognizing that anything worth having has its price. People who respect themselves are willing to accept the risk that the Indi...
I'm not optimistic, darling, but I'm hopeful. There's a difference. I'm hopeful.
I tried to figure out whether it was day or night: if it was day I had a shot at going home, but in the hospital there was no day or night.Only shifts.Only waiting.
I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not.
I just can't see the upside in this, I heard myself say by way of explanation. Later he said that if John had been sitting in the office he would have found this funny, as he himself had found it. Of...
I had believed in the logic of popular songs. I had looked for the silver lining. I had walked on through the storm.
I could tell you that I came back because I had promises to keep, but maybe it was because nobody asked me to stay.
He would say something and she would say something and before either of them knew it they would be playing out a dialogue so familiar that it drained the imagination, blocked the will, allowed them to...
Grammar is a piano I play by ear.
Given that grief remained the most general of afflictions its literature seemed remarkably spare.
Everything that was said to me I seemed to have heard before, and I could no longer listen.
At least some of the time, the world appears to me as a painting by Hieronymous Bosch; were I to follow my conscience then, it would lead me out onto the desert with Marion Faye, out to where he stood...