“...what it had indexed to was only an idea of a place, an abstraction formed from memories too brief and passing to account for the small effects of time: wind scouring and lifting the dust of the plains of Nineveh… — Kevin Powers Copy Share Image
There is a sharp distinction between what is remembered, what is told and what is true. — Kevin Powers Copy Share Image
I guess I find the boundaries between poetry and prose to be somewhat permeable. — Kevin Powers Copy Share Image
“I didn't want to be responsible for him. I had enough to worry about. I was disintegrating, too. How was I supposed to keep… — Kevin Powers Copy Share Image
I had the feeling that if I encountered anyone they would intuit my disgrace and would judge me instantly. Nothing is more isolating than… — Kevin Powers Copy Share Image
“Through those drooping branches the city sprawled out haphazardly like a drunk on a sidewalk, fallen where he may.” — Kevin Powers Copy Share Image
“I've come to accept that parts of life are constant, that just because something happens on two different days doesn't make it a goddamn… — Kevin Powers Copy Share Image
I think a lot of the guys I know and a lot of people I've talked to, what they want is very often what… — Kevin Powers Copy Share Image
The war tried to kill us in the spring. As grass greened the plains of Nineveh and the weather warmed, we patrolled the low-slung… — Kevin Powers Copy Share Image
“People are going to die," he said flatly. "It's statistics." Then he got up and left the room.” — Kevin Powers Copy Share Image
“It's lovely to think that snow can be special. we're always told it is. Of all those million million flakes that fall, no two… — Kevin Powers Copy Share Image
The details of the world in which we live are always secondary to the fact that we must live in them. — Kevin Powers Copy Share Image
It reminded me of talking, how what is said is never quite what was thought, and what is heard is never quite what was… — Kevin Powers Copy Share Image
