We are past the end of things now, but I don't want to leave.
It's odd to imagine, of course: you pass a car on a lonely rural highway; you sit beside a man in a diner and share views with him; you wait behind a customer checking into a motel, a friendly man wit...
America beats on you so hard the whole time. You are constantly being pummeled by other people's rights and their sense of patriotism.
Dreaminess is, among other things, a state of suspended recognition, and a response to too much useless and complicated factuality. Its symptoms can be a long-term interest in the weather, or a sustai...
Fincher was the kind of Southerner who will try to address you through a web of deep and antic southernness, and who assumes every body in earshot knows all about his parents and history and wants to...
What was our life like? I almost don't remember now. Though I remember , the space of time it occupied. And I remember it fondly.
She understood perfectly that when the object of anticipation becomes paramount, trouble begins to lurk like a panther.
If loneliness is the disease, the story is the cure.
People surprise you, Frank, with just how fuckin stupid they are.
Something draws you... An impatience with your own ignorance.
It was as if I'd already left some time before and was just catching up with myself.
And I think that in myself (and perhaps evident in what I write) fear of loss and the corresponding instinct to protect myself against loss are potent forces.
We do not, after all, deal in truths, only potentialities. Too much truth can be worse than death, and last longer.
Most things don't stay the way they are very long.
« Voyez-vous, d’après mon expérience, c’est quand on a l’impression de ne pas progresser qu’on avance sans doute le plus. »
To sit in the empty stands of a Florida ball park and hear the sounds of glove leather and chatter;
I don’t look in mirrors anymore. It’s cheaper than surgery.
Things happen when people are not where they belong, and the world moves forward and back by that principle.
Then, what's the matter?' I wonder, in fact, how many times I have said that or something equal to it to a woman passing palely through my life. Love is what this means, of course. Or at least, seco...
Some idiotic things are well worth doing.