Frederick Barthelme

Glimpses is dead-on about the high and tight nineties even as it reaches out for the sweet hereafter of the sixties. It…

— Frederick Barthelme

Meg Pokrass writes like a brain looking for a body. Wonderful, dark, unforgiving.

— Frederick Barthelme

“There is a feeling of disbelief that comes over you, that takes over, and you kind of go through the motions. You…

— Frederick Barthelme

A computer is a wonderful and friendly machine, because it's always just a little better than you are. You're always a little…

— Frederick Barthelme

“I remember loving pencils. I was fond of paper. I loved the small of textbooks. I loved the way the light from…

— Frederick Barthelme

“Like most marriages, ours eventually wore down all the cartilage. We were a hip needing replacement. Bone on bone, grinding, day in…

— Frederick Barthelme

“Edward Lasco was on the screened porch of his rented house in a comfortable but not elegant older section of the town…

— Frederick Barthelme

“But if someone had slowed him down, just slightly interrupted his course, maybe he could have gotten through that one nightmarish moment;…

— Frederick Barthelme

“She said things and I nodded. I didn't pay attention. She didn't pay attention to me. We floated through our days in…

— Frederick Barthelme

“I lay on the bed and shut my eyes, thinking that nobody really likes marriage, that it's a flawed arrangement, that people…

— Frederick Barthelme

“What had been quiet and restful was now silent and empty.”

— Frederick Barthelme