Lit Quotes

The Italian soldier shook my hand

The hot season’s night russles in a way that winter’s never did. Bugs dry in the brush. Things that had business in the dark.

“He knew only that the child was his warrant. He said: If he is not the word of God God never spoke”

“Each waking holds its own risk. There's a slippage. A break between the person you were before you went to sleep and the person you are after your dreams have had their way with you. You go to sleep hoping you'll wake, knowing you might not. But, even if you've made it through the night more or less intact, you can't shake the feeling that the room you woke up in isn't the same one you went to sleep in.”

“All art is propaganda…On the other hand, not all propaganda is art.”

"What people demand of a popular novelist is that he write the same book over and over again, forgetting that a man who would write the same book twice could not even write it once."

“But in general our’s is a civilization in which the very word “poetry” evokes a hostile snigger or, at best, the sort of frozen disgust that most people feel when they hear the word ‘God.’”

"I looked out over the highway's shoulder..."

"I don’t know how long I wept, but when I stepped outside, the sun had set. I told myself that the throbbing pain that kept rhythm with my heartbeat would pass."

“The baritone rumble of the ocean began to hum in the dirt, in his bones. And with every step forward the cold grew more shameless, running dead hands against his skin.”