Literature itself is a species of code. You line up symbols and create a simulacrum of life. — Marcel Theroux Copy Share Image
“We don't get much of a spring or fall to speak of. Up here, for ten months a year, the weather has teeth in… — Marcel Theroux Copy Share Image
“I had the feeling of something inside me that flipped like a fish in a net. It was hope. As much as I bad-mouth… — Marcel Theroux Copy Share Image
“I loved my father, but I was not like him. I never needed to believe the best of people. I took them as they… — Marcel Theroux Copy Share Image
“Imagine: If a man who shakes hands up and down meets a man who shakes hands side to side, what will happen? Nathan looked… — Marcel Theroux Copy Share Image
Standing on the bridge, looking across at that empty city, everything in the compass of my gaze had been set there by a human… — Marcel Theroux Copy Share Image
“Time has a way of evening things out, the simple ways endure, and the fancy pants with his smart new way falls by the… — Marcel Theroux Copy Share Image
“Human beings are rat-cunning and will happily kill you twice over for a hot meal. That’s what long observation has taught me. On the… — Marcel Theroux Copy Share Image
“Strange how it is that men never act crueler than when they're fighting for the sake of an idea. We've been killing since Cain… — Marcel Theroux Copy Share Image
“He said it hit him travelling one time in the year or so before he met my mother. Whatever country of the world it… — Marcel Theroux Copy Share Image
“What I found in a city—when I finally saw a real one—was disquieting. Nothing matched. It was a weird assemblage of things, but there… — Marcel Theroux Copy Share Image
The Word is alive. We have always known it. But it needs to be uttered, aloud or in the mind of a reader. Without… — Marcel Theroux Copy Share Image
