I have to wonder if you’re not being slightly naive here. I mean, are you saying that you want nothing for people? You have no motives? Everybody has motives. Name the person, the circumstances, I’ll name the motive. Even saints have motives — to feel like saints, probably. … But still, the point of any...
…which is where I met my my husband. Not currently my husband. My ex. Though he wasn’t that then. I never know how to say that.””Allow my copydesk expertise to intervene: your then-pre-husband, later-to-be-post-husband in his prior-to-ex-husband status.
Who’s Johnnie Walker?””It’s a drink. For grown-ups.””Is it nice?””Makes you drunk.””What’s it like being drunk?” “Like being awake and asleep at the same time.””Sounds nice.” “It was meant to sound terrible,” he said looking down his glasses at her. “You get sick and stagger around. People actually vomit sometimes.
Don’t you find it striking? The personality is constantly dying and it feels like continuity. Meanwhile, we panic about death, which we cannot ever experience. Yet it is this illogical fear that motivates our lives. We gore each other and mutilate ourselves for victory and fame, as if these might swindle mortality and extend us...
Art doesn’t spring from the muses alone, but from hard work.
When she realizes that Nigel is having an affair, her first sentiment is satisfaction that she figured it out. Her second is that, despite all the palaver about betrayal, it doesn’t feel so terrible.This is pleasing–it demonstrates a certain sophistication. She wonders if his fling might even serve her. In principle, she could leave him...
At the outset, my notion of being a writer was that you would have moments of inspiration and moments of frustration, when you’d crumple up your pages and toss them away. On one side, the dustbin would fill up, and on the other side, pages would rise into a novel.
During my past career as a journalist, I relished writing obits and equally dreaded phoning relatives for the necessary facts. But to my surprise and great relief, they often wanted to talk – they wanted their recently deceased loved ones recorded in print.
I hadn’t been a particularly precocious reader, but everybody else in my family was.
He cannot deny a certain relief in being able to sift through academic tomes, fulfilling his journalistic duty without having to barge past security guards at the Arab League or grab man-on-the-street from women at the market. This library work is easily his favorite part of reporting so far.
The way I found time to write ‘The Imperfectionists’ was that I took work as a copy editor at the ‘International Herald Tribune’ in Paris, working full-time for approximately six months, then taking my savings from that and writing full-time, then returning after six months, and so on, until the book was done!
The greatest influence over content was necessity–they had holes to fill on every page and jammed in any vaguely newsworthy string of words, provided it didn’t include expletives, which they were apparently saving for their own use around the office.