Narrator: In the period of which we speak, there reigned in the cities a stench barely conceivable to us modern men and women. Naturally, the stench was foulest in Paris, for Paris was the largest city in Europe. And nowhere in Paris was that stench ...
Be grateful for every scar life inflicts on you. Where we’re unhurt is where we are false. Where we are wounded and healed is where our real self gets to show itself. That’s where you get to show who you really are
Did you never wonder why the old books are so full of dragons chasing after maidens? The serpents think the girls are orphans, and long to get them away in a lair so that they may grow up strong and tall.
Geschichten sind unser Gedächtnis, Bibliotheken die Lagerstätten für dieses Gedächtnis und Lesen das Handwerk, mit dem wir dieses Gedächtnis neu erschaffen können, indem wir es rezitieren und glossieren, es wieder in unsere eigene Erfahrung rü...
Be natural my children. For the writer that is natural has fulfilled all the rules of art." (Last words, according to Dickens's obituary in .)
The bad news is most of my books are ebooks and aren't for sale in brick-and-mortar bookstores. The good news is that most of my books are ebooks and are perfect for emailing and I'm perfectly willing to give them away for free.
A blanket could be used to say hello to all the goodbyes I was too blind to hear. I’m hungry for a bowl full of mute, but my favorite restaurant is out of the Helen Keller Special. When they are out it, it means they are fully stocked.
A brick could be used to wade into dangerous territory with a man named Wade who builds houses made only of wood. But if you’re going to play with fire, I suggest you wear a blanket made out of oven mitts.
A brick could be used to stall for time when the police are searching your place looking for a missing person. I kept telling them, I didn’t steal a person—I kidnapped a mannequin. Is that a crime?
A brick could be used to stop the tears. The inside of my jeans’ pockets look suspiciously like handkerchiefs. Here, let me take off my pants so you can blow your nose.
A blanket could be used to let the world know how serious you are. I’m serious, it could work. Try wrapping your naked body in a blanket and showing up to a job interview and see how impressed everyone will be.
A brick could be used to unite two long-lost brothers. They’ve been apart for six inches, and that’s entirely too long, and I think it’d be good to bring them back together.
A brick could be used to show support for your favorite team. They want to crush their opponents, and if you’ve got the arm strength and accuracy, you should do everything in your power to help them do just that.
A blanket could be used to deliver the darkness on a platter of light. But I’d eat my unborn children straight out of your uterus with a straw before I’d ever be a delivery guy again. Burned pizzas burned me out on that.
A blanket could be used to rob a bank. Guns are so Bonnie and Clyde, but a blanket bank robbery has a certain amount of seduction involved. A blanket has a lot more banging involved than the bang-bang of a gun.
A blanket could be used to make people smile. But the blanket won’t make just anyone smile—it will make people with no mouths smile. I plan on showing a live audience how it works at the next Helen Keller Convention.
A blanket could be used to trap and contain love. I’ve tried other stuff, like a Ziploc bag, a can of tuna, and even a dead cat’s stomach, but nothing seems to be able to hold it for very long.
A brick could be used to say hello in a foreign language. Like most great words, it’d also have synonyms. One such synonym would be the word “Duck!” Not a Feathery Quack Maker, but Get down!
A blanket could be used to offset things likely to set you off. When you start to get hot, just wrap yourself in a warm blanket until you’re comforted and you cool down.
A blanket could be used to teach geography to a sleeping man. Better do it quick, before he wakes up and finds himself in the middle of World War III with no idea where he stands ideologically or territorially.
In 1998, Vanity Fair asked me to write a big piece for them on the 50th anniversary of the New York City Ballet. My life, to a great extent, had been spent at and with the New York City Ballet, and I decided to try it. It was very scary, writing abou...
