82 Quotes About City-on-fire

A vision of underground connections flashed before him again, only inverted. A towering construction like a tree strung with lights, shimmering, changing, and in the middle,a darkness—the object or concept holding the visible together.

But no, what interested him, psychologically speaking, was the sense of continuity itself, the mind's insistence that this was the same Regan he'd known when he was eight; had anything befallen her, the Regan he lost would have been the one who'd perched on the black rocks of the park back then, with all her futures inside.

What would Walt Whitman do?

He must have felt a disturbance just beyond the boundless world his eyes perceived. Maybe like dogs we know when we are being hunted.

Between the whiskers scraggling down his neck and the now-crooked glasses, he could have been the Black Allen Ginsberg.

There is no such thing as a perfect phrase, or a private language, and . . . time only runs the one way.

He's moving with such purpose that William is scared he might just speed right off the rooftop, like the roadrunner from the cartoons. Or (the image comes with Magritteish lucidity) spread his arms and flap up into another life.

Mercer looked around. There was no way anyone could hear. But the walls could, and the earth, and the ghosts of horses, and the state of Georgia.

As if it were possible for one person to care about another and still treat him or her like this.