I've known several cases of writers who decide to write about something and they research the hell out of it and when they're ready to write, they can't move because they are so burdened. I start writing. Whatever I need somehow comes to hand.

Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.

And so the ordinary unendurable torments we all experienced were indeed exceptional in the way they were absorbed in each heart.

We are able to walk on air, but only as long as our illusion supports us.

Communists have no respect for people, only for positions.

Images break with a small ping, their destruction is as wonderful as their being, they are essentially instruments of torture exploding through the individual's calloused capacity to feel undifferentiated emotions full of longing and dissatisfaction and monumentality.

And though the newspapers called the shooting the Crime of the Century, Goldman knew it was only 1906 and there were ninety-four years to go.