“My mother knew a man during the war. Theirs was a love story, and like any good love story, it left blood on the… — Mark Slouka Copy Share Image
I distrust the perpetually busy; always have. The frenetic ones spinning in tight little circles like poisoned rats. The slower ones, grinding away their… — Mark Slouka Copy Share Image
“There are times in every life when the past acquires a particular resonance, when we grow sensitive to sounds and voices normally beyond the… — Mark Slouka Copy Share Image
Most of the time when something goes bad—a marriage, a war, a run of good luck—you don’t know it. It’s like in the cartoons,… — Mark Slouka Copy Share Image
“Generally speaking, writers who have been at it for a while, and who are any good at it, suffer from an acute kind of… — Mark Slouka Copy Share Image
“Acceptance was not in my nature. Even as a young man it seemed to me that everywhere the world conspired against the heart, and… — Mark Slouka Copy Share Image
“Such is the privilege of survival: to be allowed to fashion the means that fit our ends, to cobble together a narrative that reveals… — Mark Slouka Copy Share Image
“Literature is literature. Its purpose is to challenge and disorient us, to break us down a little bit so that we are forced to… — Mark Slouka Copy Share Image
“The only thing your life teaches you is how to live your life. And that’s only if you’re very lucky. And you listen very… — Mark Slouka Copy Share Image
“And yet, far off, I can hear something whispering that this compulsion to do, to intrude ourselves, to improve on what is--even when wholly… — Mark Slouka Copy Share Image
“I lost my father this past year, and the word feels right because I keep looking for him. As if he were misplaced. As… — Mark Slouka Copy Share Image
The 'deep' civic function of the humanities . . . is something understood very well by totalitarian societies, which tend to keep close tabs… — Mark Slouka Copy Share Image
Maybe I lacked coping skills. Maybe I was weak. I cared for people for no better reason than they seemed to care for me,… — Mark Slouka Copy Share Image
Consider it: Who but God could have dreamed a tale so absurd and so heartless? — Mark Slouka Copy Share Image
