Without a sense of place the work is often reduced to a cry of voices in empty rooms, a literature of the self, at its best poetic music; at its worst a thin gruel of the ego. — William Kennedy Copy Share Image
Everyone is interesting except the narrator in a first-person story. — William Kennedy Copy Share Image
Aspiring writers should read the entire canon of literature that precedes them, back to the Greeks, up to the current issue of The Paris… — William Kennedy Copy Share Image
“In the years after the death of Petrus, Hillegond had refused all offers of marriage, certain that her knowledge of men, despite her uncountable… — William Kennedy Copy Share Image
Without a sense of place the work is often reduced to a cry of voices in empty rooms, a literature of the self, at… — William Kennedy Copy Share Image
“Love, is always insufficient, always a lie. Love, you are the clean shit of my soul. Stupid love, silly love. ” — William Kennedy Copy Share Image
We are only possible as what happened to us yesterday. We all change as well move — William Kennedy Copy Share Image
“He would not chance arrest by crawling into a corner of one of the old houses on Lower Broadway where the cops swept through periodically with their mindless net. What difference did it make whether four or six or eight lost men slept under a roof and out of the wind in a house with broken stairs and holes in… — William Kennedy Copy Share
“But after awhile you stand up, wipe the frost out of your ear, go someplace to get warm, bum a nickel for coffee, and… — William Kennedy Copy Share Image
“Why was it that suicide kept rising up in Francis' mind? Wake up in the weeds outside Pittsburgh, half frozen over, too cold to… — William Kennedy Copy Share Image
