Fiction, maybe art in general, is a tentative, uncertain enterprise; it's not science, it's an exploration, but you never find much in the way of answers.
My sole fond memory from this period is of a rubbery little Appalachian number by the name of June. Acrobatic tongue. Tooth decay. Illiterate in everything but love.)
A place where your life exists before you live it, and where it goes afterwards.
All of us, I suppose, like to believe that in a moral emergency we will behave like the heroes of our youth, bravely and forthrightly, without thought of personal loss or discredit.
But in a story, which is a kind of dreaming, the dead sometimes smile and sit up and return to the world.
But in a story, which is a type of dreaming, the dead sometimes smile and sit up and return to the world.
His jaw was in his throat, his upper lip and teeth were gone, his one eye was shut, his other eye was a star-shaped hole, his eyebrows were thin and arched like a woman's, his nose was undamaged, ther...
I want you to feel what I felt. I want you to know why story-truth is truer sometimes than happening-truth.
The things they carried were largely determined by necessity.
They carried all they could bear, and then some, including a silent awe for the terrible power of the things they carried.
They carried their reputations. They carried the soldier’s greatest fear, which was the fear of blushing. Men killed, and died, because they were embarrassed not to. It was what had brought them to th...
What they carried varied by mission.
And when you listened to one of his stories, you’d find yourself performing rapid calculations in your head, subtracting superlatives, figuring the square root of an absolute and then multiplying by m...
Когда ты разоблачен, перестаешь бояться разоблачения.
But the thing about remembering is that you don't forget. You take your material where you find it, which is in your life, at the intersection of past and present. The memory-traffic feeds into a rota...
But the thing about remembering is that you don't forget.
By telling stories, you objectify your own experience. You separate it from yourself. You pin down certain truths. You make up others. You start sometimes with an incident that truly happened, like th...
Each of us, I suppose needs his illusions. Life after death. A maker of planets. A woman to love, a man to hate. Something sacred. But what a waste.
Everything was such a damned nice idea when it was an idea.
Fakat şu da doğru; hikayeler bizi kurtarabilir.
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