Why did children always draw the sun smiling? he wondered. It’s a giant ball of fire, kids. It’s rage and fury. Whatever it’s doing, it isn’t fucking smiling.

Wouldn’t that be great, though, Mr. Thomason, if some chairs could save the planet? If chairs could save the planet, I’d be the happiest motherfucker alive, let me tell you.

Maybe Godot shows up in act three, my son; maybe the audience is just leaving too early. ESTRAGON: Where’d they all go? VLADIMIR: They were just here.

He was emaciated, pale shrunken skin pulled tight over weary twisted bones, holding a cloth of some kind over himself in some final instinct of modesty and self-respect.

There’s nothing to get. We’re ugly. Have you been to the zoo lately? You should go. Take Jonah with you, it will be good for him. See the placid zebra strolling in his field. Witness the mighty lion lazing in the sun. Smile at the droopy-eyed camel enjoying a mouthful of grass. Then go to the monkey house. Go see your forefathers. They are, by far,

THAT NIGHT, lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, Kugel thought he heard a gentle tapping on the vent, but decided that he hadn’t. Maybe he had. He hadn’t.

when someone rises up and promises that things are going to be better, run. Hide. Pessimists don’t build gas chambers.

We think of the obvious signs of love—tenderness, concern, care—and yet somehow, nothing said more about the health of a couple’s relationship than whether or not they went to bed at the same time.

the philosophy of science, the science of literature, the art of philosophy, the science of art, books about other books and the books about those books about other books; Gogol on Pushkin, Nabokov on Gogol, Wilson on Nabokov on Gogol. Joyce on The Odyssey, Beckett on Joyce, everyone on Beckett.