Summer is a Latvian chicken. We make foolish choices. We think weโre young again. We run with outstretched arms toward an object of love and it pecks us and pecks us until weโre standing there snot-nosed and teary in the middle of Astor Place and the sun sets fire to our Penguin shirts and all that is left to do is go to our air-conditioned homes and ponder the cruelty of our finest season.
Gary ShteyngartI just want fiction to remain a vital force for entertainment and not just for contemplation. Both things can exist.
Gary ShteyngartThe love I felt for her on that train ride had a capital and provinces, parishes and a Vatican, an orange planet and many sullen moons -- it was systemic and it was complete.
Gary Shteyngart