A bad man in Zion City is a good man in Chicago.
These stories, I realized, were lost. Nobody was going to know that part of the city but as a place where a bomb went off. The bomb was going to become the story of this city. That's how we lose the city - that's how our knowledge of what the world i...
To walk is to lack a place. It is the indefinite process of being absent and in search of a proper. The moving about that the city mutliplies and concentrates makes the city itself an immense social experience of lacking a place -- an experience that...
Well, very long ago, on the spot where the Wild Wood waves now, before ever it had planted itself and grown up to what it now is, there was a city - a city of people, you know. Here, where we are standing, they lived, and walked, and talked, and slep...
Corus lay on the southern bank of the Oloron River, towers glinting in the sun. The homes of wealthy men lined the river to the north; tanners, smiths, wainwrights, carpenters, and the poor clustered on the bank to the south. The city was a richly co...
Bad news has wings.
I'm always looking for something new: a new inspiration, a new philosophy, a new way to look at something, new talent.
The news media are, for the most part, the bringers of bad news... and it's not entirely the media's fault, bad news gets higher ratings and sells more papers than good news.
One of America's strengths has always been its openness to the new: both new ideas and new people.
For the first time ever, I was alone in a different country. I was nervous about how I was going to cope in this big bustling city and so I employed a technique which still serves me well today. I imagined myself as someone who relished new exciting ...
Just because your electronics are better than ours, you aren't necessarily superior in any way. Look, imagine that you humans are a man in LA with a brand-new Trujillo and we are a nuhp in New York with a beat-up old Ford. The two fellows start drivi...
Olive: Dear diary, I'm afraid I'm gravely ill. It is perhaps times like these that one reflects on things past. An article of clothing from when I was young. A green jacket. I walk with my father. A game we once played. Pretend we're faeries. I'm a g...
Caden Cotard: I wanted to ask you, how old are kids when they start to write? Madeleine Gravis: Listen, there's an absolutely brilliant novel written by a four year old. Caden Cotard: Really? Madeleine Gravis: 'Little Winky" by Horace Azpiazu. Caden ...
Sally Albright: I don't have to take this crap from you. Harry Burns: If you're so over Joe, why aren't you seeing anyone? Sally Albright: I see people. Harry Burns: See people? Have you slept with one person since you broke up with Joe? Sally Albrig...
All this family shit! Harry said. How can you reinvent your life if the original versions won't leave you alone?
God made man because he loves to hear stories, Alessandro said. That's a good story, huh?
The hard necessity of bringing the judge on the bench down into the dock has been the peculiar responsibility of the writer in all ages of man.
... Chicago divided your heart. Leaving you loving the joint for keeps. Yet knowing it never can love you.
Long ago the signalling had become no more than a meaningless ritual, now maintained by an animal which had forgotten to learn and a robot which had never known to forget.
This is my heart—carry it with you. I will dream of you in the dark, and you will taste it in my tea, and feel it in my shoes.
The city seen from the Queensboro Bridge is always the city seen for the first time, in its first wild promise of all the mystery and the beauty in the world.
