“Don’t complain, don’t explain.”

“It’s possible, in a poem or a short story, to write about commonplace things and objects using commonplace but precise language, and to endow those things– a chair, a window curtain, a fork, a stone, a woman’s earring– with immense, even startling power. It is possible to write a line of seemingly innocuous dialogue and have it send a chill along the reader’s spine– the source of artistic delight, as Nabokov would have it. That’s the kind of writing that most interests me.”

“My circumstances of unrelieved responsibility and permanent distraction necessitated the short story form.”

“That’s all we have, finally, the words, and they had better be the right ones.”

“Happiness. It comes onunexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,any early morning talk about it.”

“HappinessSo early it’s still almost dark out.I’m near the window with coffee,and the usual early morning stuffthat passes for thought.When I see the boy and his friendwalking up the roadto deliver the newspaper.They wear caps and sweaters,and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.They are so happythey aren’t saying anything, these boys.I think if they could, they would takeeach other’s arm.It’s early in the morning,and they are doing this thing together.They come on, slowly.The sky is taking on light,though the moon still hangs pale over the water.Such beauty that for a minutedeath and ambition, even love,doesn’t enter into this.Happiness. It comes onunexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,any early morning talk about it.”

“It ought to make us feel ashamed when we talk like we know what we’re talking about when we talk about love.”