“Then there was a fine noise of rushing water from the crown of an oak at his back, as if a spigot… — John Cheever Copy Share Image
I have always been the lover - never the beloved - and I have spent much of my life waiting for trains,… — John Cheever Copy Share Image
For me, a page of good prose is where one hears the rain and the noise of battle. It has the power… — John Cheever Copy Share Image
The task of an American writer is not to describe the misgivings of a woman taken in adultery as she looks out… — John Cheever Copy Share Image
For me a page of good prose is where one hears the rain. A page of good prose is when one hears… — John Cheever Copy Share Image
The poet or storyteller who feels that he is competing with a superb double play in the World Series is a lost man. One… — John Cheever Copy Share Image
“She perceived vaguely the pitiful corruption of the adult world; how cruel and frail it was, like a worn piece of burlap, patched with… — John Cheever Copy Share Image
For lovers, touch is metamorphosis. All the parts of their bodies seem to change, and they seem to become something different and better. — John Cheever Copy Share Image
“I dream that someone in space says to me: So let us rush, then, to see the world. It is shaped like an egg,… — John Cheever Copy Share Image
I don't like to see all my energies, all of my youth, wasted in fur coats and radios and slipcovers. — John Cheever Copy Share Image
Literature has been the salvation of the damned, literature has inspired and guided lovers, routed despair and can perhaps in this case save the… — John Cheever Copy Share Image
At my back I hear the word-"homosexual"-and it seems to split my world in two.... It is ignorance, our ignorance of one another, that… — John Cheever Copy Share Image
One would never have guessed that the world had such a capacity for genuine grief. The most we can do is exploit our memories… — John Cheever Copy Share Image
“His stepmother -wearing a nightgown for comfort and a flowered hat for looks- had spent her days sitting in their parlor window in Baltimore… — John Cheever Copy Share Image
Fear tastes like a rusty knife and do not let her into your house. Courage tastes of blood. Stand up straight. Admire the world.… — John Cheever Copy Share Image
