Later, her first intense, serious love affair, yes then she'd lost something more tangible, if undefinable: her heart? her independence? her control of, definition of, self? That first true loss, the...
I believe in uttering the truth, even if it hurts. Particularly if it hurts.
He told Neal he was in poor condition these days but he swam better than Neal, who’d gained ten or fifteen pounds since his marriage, and Enid, falling behind the men, wondered how it felt to have inh...
What is technique but the absence of passion?
The writer understands how deeply mysterious the 'familiar' really is. How strangely opaque, what we've seen a thousand times. And how inconsolable a loss, when the taken-for-granted is finally taken...
It simply fell from him, like a heavy overcoat he'd shrugged off, no longer needing its warmth or bulk to protect him.
He was ugly, himself. Weird-ugly. But ugliness in a man doesn't matter, much. Ugliness in a woman is her life.
For isn't the artist by nature a revolutionary?
For The Accursed is intended as a work of inquiring moral complexity, and not a sensationalist rehashing of an old, dread scandal far better left to molder in the grave!
While madness in individuals is relatively rare, it is virtually a prerequisite for a certain sort of political leader.
When you're fifty you start thinking about things you haven't thought about before. I used to think getting old was about vanity-but actually it's about losing people you love. Getting wrinkles is tr...
Reading is the sole means by which we slip, involuntarily, often helplessly, into another's skin, another's voice, another's soul.
And this is the forbidden truth, the unspeakable taboo - that evil is not always repellent but frequently attractive; that it has the power to make of us not simply victims, as nature and accident do,...
To be Jewish is to be specifically identified with a history. And if you're not aware of that when you're a child, the whole tradition is lost.
The terrible intimacy of pregnancy,
And much more interesting.
We are beasts and this is our consolation.
My self is all to me. I don't have any need of you.
Love you in that cheerleader’s costume. Last Friday. You didn’t see me I guess. But I was there.
In this way unwittingly the Widow-to-Be is assuring her husband’s death—his doom. Even as she believes she is behaving intelligently—shrewdly and reasonably—she is taking him to a teeming petri dish o...
