“It was them and not them, maybe the ones they’d never been. I could almost see those others standing in the garden where the pea plants were, feet planted between the rows. They stood without moving, their faces glowing with… — Lydia Millet Copy Share Image
Kate Bernheimer's fiction offers a unique and delicate gift, the tempting mirage of a grace that constantly escapes. The Complete Tales of Merry Gold… — Lydia Millet Copy Share
“Love of knowledge can draw on its credit indefinitely ... love of knowledge is iron-clad.” — Lydia Millet Copy Share
Beneath the violet pillar, in the vacuum before the roar of the cloud, there came a soft sound that might have been heard by… — Lydia Millet Copy Share
“As he was leaving it occurred to him that he would not come back, to this zoo or to any of them. With the… — Lydia Millet Copy Share
The gun is mightier than the pen, was our true opinion, and the RPG is mightier still. — Lydia Millet Copy Share
“What was a face on television but a code, and what was the difference between these faces but a realignment of line and color… — Lydia Millet Copy Share
“I have always wished the present to resemble memory: because the present can be flat at times, and bald as a road. But memory… — Lydia Millet Copy Share
“There was the honour and austerity of money as he walked through art galleries, as he saw around him the collections of oil paintings… — Lydia Millet Copy Share
“Let God leave us! Let us grow up. Let us walk forward on our own. Because we need the silence of the holy: we… — Lydia Millet Copy Share
The rooms of his apartment were full with the dog home again, convalescing. He was satisfied to know, even when she was out of… — Lydia Millet Copy Share
“Then he would get into a plane and leave the field wide open; the field was crammed with paralegals, all of them stoutly armed… — Lydia Millet Copy Share
“Although she didn't have the plumbing, she deluded herself that she was the modern W.C. (about Margaret Thatcher, M.T.)” — Lydia Millet Copy Share
“Forget the buildings and the monuments. Let the softness of dark come in, all those light-years between stars and planets. Cities were the works… — Lydia Millet Copy Share
