Rarely Do Pens Go Dry In Restaurants.

The Equivocations, The Confusions, The Contradictions. There's No Way We Can Live Through Or Comprehend Something So Big That Happened So Long Ago. We've Lost True History. But If We Are Willing To Tolerate The Contradictions, And If We Suffer Through Events Rather Than Ticking Them Off, We May At Least Get Closer To Understanding What Happened Than If We Grip The Handrail Of A Carefully Polished And Reassuringly Heroic Narrative.

I No Longer Want To Live In An Apartment Furnished With Forklifts And Backhoes.

Maybe The Kindle Was The Bowflex Of Bookishness: Something Expensive That, When You Commit To It, Forces You To Do More Of Whatever It Is You Think You Should Be Doing More Of.

I Wanted To Apprentice Myself To The Dailiness Of The War's Beginning Phase. It's Truer And More Frightening That Way - When You're Afloat On A Little Dingy In The Midst Of It All.

Poetry Is Prose In Slow Motion.