Filed under beautiful sentences

Beautiful Sentences: Denis Johnson

But I was afraid to make love to her without the conversations and laughter from that false universe playing in our ears, because I didn’t want to get to know her very well, and didn’t want, to be bridging any silences with our eyes.

Denis Johnson, Jesus’ Son

Tagged

Beautiful Sentences: Marilynne Robinson

I think hope is the worst thing in the world. I really do. It makes a fool of you while it lasts. And then when it’s gone, it’s like there’s nothing left of you at all.

Marilynne Robinson, Home.

Tagged

Beautiful Sentences: J. Robert Lennon

The memories this act stirred up were mostly memories of other visits to this cemetery, when her feelings had been more profound. (This is what happens, she supposes, to dramatic events: they create feelings that create other feelings, memories that give way to memories of having them. The older you get, the more life seems like a tightening spiral of nostalgia and narcissism, and the actual palpable world recedes into insignificance, replaced by a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy. The sunshine today agrees: it has rendered the town in high relief, grainy and posterized, the colors too bright. so fake it’s a new kind of real.)

J. Robert Lennon, Familiar.

Tagged

Beautiful Sentences: Denis Johnson

No wonder he didn’t hear or speak, no wonder he didn’t have anything to do with words. Everything along those lines was used up

Denis Johnson, Jesus’ Son.

Tagged

Beautiful Sentences: J. Robert Lennon

Stories exist to make sense of life.

J. Robert Lennon, Familiar.

Tagged

Beautiful Sentences: Denis Johnson

Looking at her I thought of going out in the fields with my wife back when we were so in love we didn’t know what it was.

Denis Johnson, Jesus’ Son.

Tagged

Beautiful sentences: David Bezmogis

Though he did not want to desecrate his grief, Alec nonetheless said, I just buried my father, I’d like to come up.

David Bezmogis, The Free World.

Tagged

Beautiful sentences: Terese Svoboda

At least we have our own cell to settle in. At least the baby doesn’t die of the shot the way he could have, with all the cell fleas and a flesh wound and no mother. He is used to Sharon more anyway is what I suppose, what with the mother no doubt seeping milk out onto the plow handles whenever she came close enough to wave instead of feed him. At least the fleas here keep him so miserable he couldn’t find eternal rest if you laid it in front of him,

Terese Svoboda, Bohemian Girl.

Tagged

Beautiful Sentences: Lillian S. Robinson

But ours is a movement that is only half certain where it is marching, and poetry is more often relegated to the “cultural events,” the entertainment segment of feminist conferences, rallies, and meetings, the thing we drop into when the real political work is over. It needs to be more than that, and I am convinced that it will be—when there is a movement demanding that this most sensitive instrument be pressed into the service of a more sweeping analysis and a more definite direction than any we have yet devised.

Lillian S. Robinson, “The Keen Eye… Watching: Poetry and the Feminist Movement”

Tagged

Beautiful sentences

I think hope is the worst thing in the world. I really do. It makes a fool of you while it lasts. And then when it’s gone, it’s like there’s nothing left of you at all.

Marilynne Robinson, Home.

Tagged