Art, like any disaster, happens very slowly, then all at once.
Anne Enright
Love was a thing to keep covered up.
Douglas A. Martin, “Branwell”
And in the end we’re all just humans… drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness.
F. Scott Fitzgerald

"love too long" by barry hannah

Once I cheated on her. I was drunk in Pittsburgh. They bragged on me for being a fly in the South. This girl and I were left together in a fancy apartment of the Oakland section. The girl did everything. I was homesick during the whole time for Jane. When you get down to it, there isn’t much to do. It’s just arms and legs. It’s not worth a damn.

how to walk in new york

  • NY Mag: What do you hate most about living in New York?
  • Bobby Cannavale: On a sidewalk, when people walk on the left. I go crazy every day. I say things to people. There's a flow! There's lanes — and if one guy throws it off, like he's on his phone and he's in the wrong lane, it backs up everything. And if you're going to go up the stairs on the left on the subway, go two at a time, so you can keep the lane clear. I don't like people who don't know how to walk in the city.
There is something in the New York air that makes sleep useless.
Simone de Beauvoir
It’s no longer the love of our twenties for you, either. When I was twenty I was in love with love at the same time I was in love with you. I have lost the whole of that glowing, enthusiastic side of myself: that is what has changed.
Simone de Beauvoir, “A Woman Destroyed”

writing advice from jenny offill

  • NYFA: With two novels and three children’s books under your belt, do you have any advice for writers just starting out?
  • JENNY OFFILL: Don’t take advice from people who prize security above all else. 
Surround yourself with smart, funny, ridiculously broke friends and learn to tolerate uncertainty together. Cook each other dinner, loan each other rent, and banish all talk about how old you are getting, and how young everyone else is.
She remembers the first night she knew that she loved him, the way the fear came rushing in. She laid her head on his chest and listened to his heart. One day this too will stop, she thought. The no, no, no of it.
Jenny Offill, “Dept of Speculation”
That one was so beautiful I used to watch him sleep. If I had to sum up what he did to me, I’d say it was this: he made me sing along to all the bad songs on the radio. Both when he loved me and when he didn’t.
Jenny Offill, “Dept of Speculation”
There is still such crookedness in my heart. I had thought loving two people would straighten it.
Jenny Offill, “Dept. of Speculation”
I realized later that it was perfectly safe to say anything then, since nothing was possible.
Lydia Davis, “The End of the Story”
Existence is this, I thought, a start of joy, a stab of pain, an intense pleasure, veins that pulse under the skin, there is no other truth to tell.
Elena Ferrante, “The Days of Abandonment”
It was really true, there was no longer anything about him that could interest me. He wasn’t even a fragment of the past, he was only a stain, like the print of a hand left years ago on a wall.
Elena Ferrante, “The Days of Abandonment”
The circle of an empty day is brutal, and at night it tightens around your neck like a noose.
Elena Ferrante, “The Days of Abandonment”