| Link | Quote | Stars | Tags | Author |
| 2cdf709 | I'm never going to accomplish anything; that's perfectly clear to me. I'm never going to be famous. My name will never be writ large on the roster of Those Who Do Things. I don't do anything. Not one single thing. I used to bite my nails, but I don't even do that any more. | obscurity the-new-yorker | Dorothy Parker | |
| 77acd40 | Isn't it funny that if God were to reveal and explain Himself, the majority of the world would necessarily be disappointed? | short-story the-new-yorker | Jonathan Safran Foer | |
| a822e19 | "ANOTHER TWILIGHT Allow the point of the Croccodrillo its hazy cypress trees in profile Like a rough sketch for the Isle of the Dead, as seen from yellow stucco, his Villa Igea where Lawrence finished "Sons and Lovers," wild thyme scenting olive-grove grass, crime scenery come back to more than once. Again you're mirrored in lake shadow, a white sail flaking on its turquoise wavelets, keep awake by traffic noise Along the Gardesana...and you know | the-new-yorker | Peter Robinson |