The mind was a trap--it was a cage that slammed down over you.
It’s a good thing you write fiction. If you had to describe the real world, nobody would recognize it.
But this story ends when you open the door. It doesn’t matter if you managed to guess which room is mine, which door I closed behind me. You put your hand on the door handle, you knock, it’s all over....
What we do here is physiologically impossible. So we must train the body to accept the impossible, and then it will become possible.
Students set up desks where you could sign petitions for legalizing marijuana or declare yourself in favor of homosexuality and the protection of whales; students thronged by.
God, in the orthodox view, causes famine, plague, and flood. Was God evil? Evil is a convenient fiction.
Every night he comes thudding out of sleep drenched in sweat and staring into the dark. Something huge and scaly is twisting away into nothingness. There you are again, he thinks. There you are, old f...
David, I said, no matter what my intentions are, everything I write winds up turning into fiction, including my letters to friends.
Sometimes, it seems like sighted people can hardly see anything.
He was particularly disgruntled to see what he had taken for a bundle of old rags on the tracks outside was a human body. He did not say Not again (what he said was Shit on this), but Not again was wh...
Another writer once asked me why I wrote about nebbishes. I told him I wanted to write about the common man.) Sometimes I even
The face was no longer bone, but animal - the face of a white wolf. I forbid you nothing. uttered the awful face. You may go anywhere - you may open any door. But, little bird, remember that you must...
You'll never get anything done if you walk around with an unchipped heart.
She thought it was too bad it didn’t work the other way around, so you could get braver and smarter as you move up in years. But
She tasted what she had said and found it sour enough to be accurate.
Privilege encased them, surrounded them like armor. In the cast of their faces was the assumption that they would never have to take anything very seriously. For the first time in my life I saw the tr...
It seemed that if you listened to that snow hissing long enough, you wouldn’t just hear it telling you that it was waiting for you, you’d hear some terrible secret—a secret to turn your life black.
And rising extremely unlike Phoebus with the dawn to prepare the schoolhouse.
The wizard stirs, opens his eyes, and looks at the reluctant boy. Oh, you’ll get your heart broken, he says. Is that what you’re waiting to hear? It’ll be broken, all right. But you'll never get anyth...
She thought, instead, with longing of more books—of buying books—of slipping into a narrative of other people’s lives. That was release.