On our wedding-day I was forty-six, she was eighteen.
George Saunders, Lincoln in the Bardo
A man stands at the end of a drafty corridor, a.k.a. the nineteenth century, and in the flickering light of an oil lamp examines a machine made of nickel and ivory, with brass rails and quartz rods—a squat, ugly contraption, somehow out of focus, not easy for the poor reader to visualize, despite the listing of parts and materials.
An Englishman builds a machine in guttering lamplight, a Yankee engineer awakens in medieval fields, a jaded Pennsylvania weatherman relives a single February day, a little cake summons lost time, a magic amulet transports schoolchildren to golden Babylon, torn wallpaper reveals a timely message, a boy in a DeLorean seeks his parents, a woman on a pier awaits her lover—all these, our muses, our guides, in the unending now.
James Gleick, Time Travel
I didn’t know what email was until I got to college.
I hadn’t learned anything at all.
Elif Batuman, The Idiot
Seventeen-year-old Ewan Mao waited outside the great hall of the man he was destined to kill, wondering if his best friend was still alive.
“Yeah, all right.”
Erin Claiborne, A Hero at the End of the World
The twentieth century was dominated, in Europe, by the conflict between totalitarian regimes and liberal democracies.
Of one thing, however, I am sure: I would not like any ministry or its officials to decide on my behalf what I should be, think, believe or love.
Tzvetan Todorov, The Fear of Barbarians
Even on a good day I don’t enjoy being shot at.
“But I really don’t think I’m cut out for this job anymore….”
Zoë Sharp, Die Easy
The suntanned man behind the front desk glanced up, recognized him, and looked back down without a word.
It sounded just a little better than all right.
John Altman, Deception
I was born in Antwerp in 1939, one year before the Germans occupied Belgium in World War II.
I know that some questions will never be answered, but having found the strangers I was looking for, I can now start putting them to rest.
Dori Katz, Looking For Strangers
“Segregation,” the preacher paused to let his congregation absorb the full solemnity of his message, “is apparent everywhere.”
The ability to do just that—and thus completely reorient the dramas of urban politics—provides the only true measure of a world ready to forswear the splitting of its cities.
Carl Nightingale, Segregation
2018 • 2016
This page last modified on 2017 May 19.