D. A. Hosek

Category: beautiful sentences

  • Beautiful sentences

    I heard my self using a snotty tone to Judge Prowse. I was put off by it. But then wondered where snottiness comes from. It comes from an attempt to be funny and companionable. And this striving stems from a sense that one is not secure of confident—it’s a lack of confidence. That one feels…

  • Beautiful Sentences

    There’s a mystery in the thought of the re-creation of an old man as an old man, with all the defects and injuries of what is called long life faithfully preserved in him, and all their claims and all their tendencies honored, too, as in the steady progress of arthritis in my left knee.  …

  • Beautiful Sentences

    I like the crust, as long as there’s something still stuck to the bread. I like the remnants of things. Michael Winter, The Big Why.

  • Beautiful Sentences

    I’ve developed a great reputation for wisdom by ordering more books than I ever had time to read, and reading more books, by far, than I learned anything useful from, except, of course, that some very tedious gentlemen have written books. Marilynne Robinson, Gilead.

  • Beautiful Sentences

    We all—in the end—die in medias res. Mona Simpson, “A Sister’s Eulogy for Steve Jobs” (The New York Times 30 October 2011)

  • Beautiful Sentences

    I don’t know why solitude would be a balm for loneliness, but that is how it always was for me in those days. Marilynne Robinson, Gilead.

  • Beautiful Sentences

    He wondered now if everyone had a private life. He wondered if his wife had one. It was possible all these years that he had been alone, never knowing that a complete world existed and no one spoke of it. Ann Patchett, Bel Canto.

  • Beautiful Sentences

    “What’s your baby’s name?” She told him what Ezra called the baby. Elisabeth Fairchild, “A Heavy Breath” (The Missouri Review Summer 2011)

  • Beautiful Sentences

    A storybook detective starts by confronting us with a murder and ends by absolving us of it. He clears us of guilt. He relieves us of uncertainty. He removes us from the presence of death. Kate Summerscale, The Suspicions of Mr Whicher.