"I think the Pulitzer often goes to writers who are writing about America in some larger way than in writing about particular Americans. And Empire Falls was some sort of snapshot of some part of America."
With folded hands but answerless.
"Anything that stops and tries to make us feel human as opposed to making us feel like consumers or productive units, I think that's important."
"Writing is a pleasure. Whatever the frustrations are, they are nothing compared to having to go to a real job. So, I can't ever say writing is hard. I'd be ashamed of saying that."
Uncle Shelby, Sippy Salvatore, Silent Edgar, Ramos the Bull God, Alejandro the Hammer, Peter the Wolf, The Ghost of Thom Jones, names by which my ilk are known or have been known, all. Name by which I go when I go at night from this place in the hills with my hollow prayer book in
The spark is a good dog. Giuseppe sucks! It is well trained. It heels. Architects call electricians sparkies, They do what Giuseppe tells them! The wall cannot be broken by a fist. Giuseppe sucks! It is a solid thing. It contains. Architects call bricklayers brickies. They do what Giuseppe tells them! The shower has good
"I knew how those people were flawed and yet very sweet and kind and generous at the same time. If I have a vision of humanity, it's that. Rarely do you see what you perceive to be pure evil."
"I think that's what a lot of people object to in writing programs—a lot of private school kids being shuffled into a graduate program who have never seen anything or done anything."
Outside, the last sunlight in the world plays in the treetops, turns shimmering leaflets gold. Row upon row of dazzled green cornstalks reach up, blind, into the empty blue sky. A purple strip of road divides us. A shadowy figure, sack over his shoulder, follows his feet along the edge of the ditch. He stops
To zap the demons of attachment you told your premature mourners to place your corpse on a table strewn with frozen raspberries * Today is July 18, 2002, and the last time I sat in Boulder was summer 1975-- you arrived, and I was reading your novels & poems and saw no more need to