“Occasionally, the light seemed to arrive from a distinct direction, like the sun slanting through a gap in a curtain, but often it simply infused whatever aches or traumas afflicted people. At such times, it had the appearance of a… — 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 couldn't recall whether the story was true or simply a thought experiment, but the room, as she remembered it, was decorated with a series of black verticle stripes on the walls, and the floor and ceiling… — Kevin Brockmeier Copy Share
“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 ever smacked me." I took a long sip of my coffee so that I would not have to answer her. I wanted to tell her that she ought to be more generous to the girl she… — Kevin Brockmeier Copy Share
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
