“But correspondents are a wily bunch. Having stashed their typewriters, crossed the border, changed their clothes, and counted to ten, they began slipping back into the country one by one. So in 1928, the Foreign Press Office was opened anew… — Amor Towles Copy Share Image
“To have even one year when you're presented with choices that can alter your circumstances, your character, your course- that's by the grace of… — Amor Towles Copy Share Image
“Rather than sitting in orderly rows in a schoolhouse, wouldn't one be better served by working her way towards an actual horizon, so that… — Amor Towles Copy Share Image
That's how quickly New York City comes about - like a weather wane - or the head of a cobra. Time tells which. — Amor Towles Copy Share Image
“Mostly, he said, I've been thinking about what I'm not going to do. When I think of the last few years, I've been hounded… — Amor Towles Copy Share Image
“In the doleful court behind my building a patchwork of windows was all that separated me from a hundred muted lives being led without… — Amor Towles Copy Share Image
“That is how time passes when one is left waiting unaccountably. The hours become interminable. The minutes relentless. And the seconds? Why, not only… — Amor Towles Copy Share Image
“Mishka would pine for Katerina the rest of his life! Never again would he walk Nevsky Prospekt, however they chose to rename it, without… — Amor Towles Copy Share Image
Every year, I would spend weeks at a time in the hotels of distant cities. — Amor Towles Copy Share Image
“For eventually, we come to hold our dearest possessions more closely than we hold our friends.” — Amor Towles Copy Share Image
“As we age, we are bound to find comfort from the notion that it takes generations for a way of life to fade. We… — Amor Towles Copy Share Image
“For it is the role of the parent to express his concerns and then take three steps back. Not one, mind you, not two,… — Amor Towles Copy Share Image
“But I've come to realie that however blue my circumstance,s if after finishing a chapter of a Dickens novel I feel a miss-my-stop-on-the-train sort… — Amor Towles Copy Share Image
