Attempting to escape the feeling is worse than the feeling itself.

On Sunday night he put on his work suit and sat in a chair until dawn.

He needed to believe that their shared ordeal had brought them closer, but she wanted as far away as possible.

The more complex the organism the more objectionable its putrefaction.

For years I saw him once a day with his after-work drink and loosened tie, desultorily watering the lawn with his free hand. After a few minutes she’d join him, in her Jackie Kennedy white pants, smoking a cigarette and regarding him through narrowed eyes. When he’d finished his drink he’d throw the ice in the bushes before they went back inside. I never figured out if they hated each other or were deeply in love.

The work is inconsistent; not of a piece; in violation of its own precepts; insufficiently committed.

People seldom remembered having already met him.

The group repudiated any suggestion of esthetic joy or gestural flourish in its practice. Details not grounded in rigorously defended academic theory were ruthlessly prosecuted. Working there was like joining the Taliban.

The two primary obstacles to improvement were (1) starting, and (2) continuing.

1) thought
2) first draft
3) revision
4) deletion

Brick painted the color of brick, an object turned into a sign.

The few minutes each evening this time of year when the back windows flood with wild monkey light and birdcalls echo through the trees. Something in you lifts and you feel the heaviness of what you’ve become.

Far too finely wrought to be good.

It’s amazing how far an attractive avatar can take you today’s world.

A contagion of insanity is loose in the land.