“Imagine how titanic an echo chamber this great city would seem without the noise of eve none of mine. A huge bronze bell deprived of one hidden small iron clapper, its sole reason for being, its single means of song.” — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
Without much accuracy, with strangely little love at all, your family will decide for you exactly who you are, and they'll keep nudging, coaxing,… — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
“The tree feels splintery, nasty to my touch; it feels Floridian, more reptile than vegetable, more stucco than stone. I do loathe this state,… — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
Writing is a kind of free fall that you then go back and edit and shape. — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
Know something, sugar? Stories only happen to people who can tell them. — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
You know, right often, the body is the best thing we’ve got going for us. A body itself is a shiny object. Something! — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
“He, the true writer, is the department store dummy at the very center of the whole establishment, the one left alone on display all night, a price tag stapled to every piece of clothing they’ve yanked onto him, binoculars and frog flippers included. He is the neutral, generic human form, the gray center who must always assume disguises — in… — Allan Gurganus Copy Share
“Lord-Express have mercy on our stop-making, stuttering local. Place me expressly beyond these stares, past such terrible embarrassment. I say I do not feel it. I feel it. Credit me at least for trying to help my others. Let me trust your blueprint even though you’re really succch a bad designer. Let me know how best to clean up after… — Allan Gurganus Copy Share
“The chances of achieving literary performance are, to the decimal point, the odds against becoming fully human. That means one hundred and fifty million… — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
“Imagine how titanic an echo chamber this great city would seem without the noise of eve none of mine. A huge bronze bell deprived… — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
There's a kind of ear music . . . a rhythmic synchronicity which creates a kind of heartbeat on the page. — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
“We'd die here, old together, safe with each other's secrets. We were each other's juvenilia” — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
