— Они были дети, — сказал немецкий офицер. — А мы были волки.
Silence was darkness, and that naming shone a light.
Selvage of gray-blue radiation from the kitchen tube fringed the bedroom door and mingled with a pale shaft of nocturnal Brooklyn, a compound derived from the halos of streetlights, the headlamps of t...
Man coming toward him over the ice, watching
All I want to do is get home and never see any of you authors ever again,
You would never do anything like that, would you? my wife asked him. You would never hurt animals.Our son shook his head, looking offended by the question. He might have been lying, but my knowledge o...
You hit me with a tuba, he said, looking at me with an air of hurt surprise. I know, I said. I’m sorry. A sheet of paper came whistling up and flattened itself against my
You got the good heart. Underneath all the other stuff. Good heart is eighty-five percent of everything in life.' ...'What is the other fifteen percent?' Nat said. 'Just out of curiosity?''Politeness,...
Without the witty, potent dialogue and the puzzling shape of the story, the movie would have been merely an American version of the kind of brooding, shadow-filled, Ufa-style expressionist stuff that...
Wie viele einsame Kinder war sein Problem nicht die Einsamkeit an sich, sondern dass er nie allein gelassen wurde, um sie zu geniessen.
When I remember that dizzy summer, that dull, stupid, lovely, dire summer, it seems that in those days I ate my lunches, smelled another's skin, noticed a shade of yellow, even simply sat, with greate...
When I read these words I saw at once a connection to my own work. Anything good that I have written has, at some point during its composition, left me feeling uneasy and afraid. It has seemed, for a...
We're just animals in a cage. They're just feeding us to keep us alive.
Vulgar language, Chan said...Always the first and last refuge of the man with nothing to say.
Tommy had never been successful at explaining himself to adults because of their calamitous heedlessness,
To reach escape velocity, my grandmother, like any spacefarer, would be obliged to leave almost everything behind her.
This was the writer's true doppelgänger, I thought; not some invisible imp of the perverse who watched you from the shadows, periodically appearing, dressed in your clothes and carrying your house key...
This is in my opinion why writers—like insomniacs—are so accident-prone, so obsessed with the calculus of bad luck and missed opportunities, so liable to rumination and a concomitant inability to let...
They had an old-fashioned sincerity...that touched Archy in this time when everything good in life was either synthesised in transgenic cyborg vats or shade-grown in small batches by a Buddhist collec...
There's nothing more embarrassing than to have earned the disfavor of a perceptive animal.