“Imagine how titanic an echo chamber this great city would seem without the noise of eve none of mine. A huge bronze bell deprived of one hidden small iron clapper, its sole reason for being, its single means of song.” — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
Without much accuracy, with strangely little love at all, your family will decide for you exactly who you are, and they'll keep nudging, coaxing,… — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
“The tree feels splintery, nasty to my touch; it feels Floridian, more reptile than vegetable, more stucco than stone. I do loathe this state,… — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
Writing is a kind of free fall that you then go back and edit and shape. — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
Know something, sugar? Stories only happen to people who can tell them. — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
You know, right often, the body is the best thing we’ve got going for us. A body itself is a shiny object. Something! — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
“He, the true writer, is the department store dummy at the very center of the whole establishment, the one left alone on display all… — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
“Lord-Express have mercy on our stop-making, stuttering local. Place me expressly beyond these stares, past such terrible embarrassment. I say I do not feel… — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
“The chances of achieving literary performance are, to the decimal point, the odds against becoming fully human. That means one hundred and fifty million… — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
“Imagine how titanic an echo chamber this great city would seem without the noise of eve none of mine. A huge bronze bell deprived… — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
There's a kind of ear music . . . a rhythmic synchronicity which creates a kind of heartbeat on the page. — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
“We'd die here, old together, safe with each other's secrets. We were each other's juvenilia” — Allan Gurganus Copy Share Image
