Sometimes they rose up inside her, these moments of fierce happiness, kindling out of their own substance like a spark igniting a mound of grass. It was a joy to be alive, a strange and savage joy, and she stood… — Kevin Brockmeier Copy Share Image
You remember having friends who used to lampoon the world so effortlessly, crouching at the verge of every joke and waiting to pounce on it, and you remember how they changed as they grew older and the joy of questioning… — Kevin Brockmeier Copy Share Image
Worry is a mean-faced dwarf who beats on your heart like a kettledrum. — Kevin Brockmeier Copy Share Image
“If I could, I would work my way backward, paring away the years. I would reel my life arouond the wheel of this longing… — Kevin Brockmeier Copy Share Image
“The incident made her remember the story she had heard about the girl who was raised in a room with no horizontal lines. She… — Kevin Brockmeier Copy Share Image
“Sometimes I remember the way I used to be," she said as we sat across the table from each other, "and I'm surprised nobody… — Kevin Brockmeier Copy Share Image
A successful song comes to sing itself inside the listener. It is cellular and seismic, a wave coalescing in the mind and in the… — Kevin Brockmeier Copy Share Image
What I wanted was to write a memoir that was immersive rather than reflective, to resurrect a long-gone version of my own consciousness. I… — Kevin Brockmeier Copy Share Image
Sometimes they rose up inside her, these moments of fierce happiness, kindling out of their own substance like a spark igniting a mound of… — Kevin Brockmeier Copy Share Image
It's like you're born with all these blessings, only you don't realize they're blessings until you lose them. And if you're thick-headed enough, like… — Kevin Brockmeier Copy Share Image
“The street lamps and illuminated signs were all extinguished, and on impulse everybody looked into the sky. The frogs and crickets fell quiet to… — Kevin Brockmeier Copy Share Image
You have a pet theory, one you have been turning over for years, that life itself is a kind of Rube Goldberg device, an… — Kevin Brockmeier Copy Share Image
Who was it who said that every virtue contains its corresponding vice? C.S. Lewis? Virginia Woolf? You forget. But it has always worried you… — Kevin Brockmeier Copy Share Image
