JL
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Jonathan Lethem is an American novelist and essayist born in New York City on February 19, 1964.

Lethem attended the High School of Music & Art before going on to study at Bennington College. His novel Motherless Brooklyn was published in 1999 and earned him the National Book Critics Circle Award for Fiction. He followed that with The Fortress of Solitude in 2003, another work of fiction produced in English.

In addition to his writing, Lethem received a MacArthur Fellowship and a Guggenheim Fellowship. Since 2011 he has taught creative writing at Pomona College. His published output spans both the novel and the essay form.

Quotes by Jonathan Lethem

Jonathan Lethem's insights on:

It was good while it was good.
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It was good while it was good.
Enough of this. Does every conversation with you have to be the director’s cut? Get out of the car.
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Enough of this. Does every conversation with you have to be the director’s cut? Get out of the car.
I can’t bear the silent ringing in my skull.
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I can’t bear the silent ringing in my skull.
What’s lucky about my career in general is that I stumbled into what every writer most wants. Not repeating myself and doing strange things has become my trademark.
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What’s lucky about my career in general is that I stumbled into what every writer most wants. Not repeating myself and doing strange things has become my trademark.
I guess they needed a maze in Japan, where everything’s neat and tidy. In America everybody’s already wandering around lost.
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I guess they needed a maze in Japan, where everything’s neat and tidy. In America everybody’s already wandering around lost.
All Thinking is Wishful.
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All Thinking is Wishful.
There’s something about the rhythms of language that correspond to the rhythms of our own bodies.
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There’s something about the rhythms of language that correspond to the rhythms of our own bodies.
I raised that kid like I was running an egg-and-spoon race through a minefield, and he was the egg.
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I raised that kid like I was running an egg-and-spoon race through a minefield, and he was the egg.
How strange it began to seem that cars have bodies that never are supposed to touch, a disaster if they do.
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How strange it began to seem that cars have bodies that never are supposed to touch, a disaster if they do.
For those whose ganglia were formed pre-TV, the mimetic deployment of pop-culture icons seems at best an annoying tic and at worst a dangerous vapidity that compromises fiction’s seriousness by dating it out of the Platonic Always, where it ought to reside.
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For those whose ganglia were formed pre-TV, the mimetic deployment of pop-culture icons seems at best an annoying tic and at worst a dangerous vapidity that compromises fiction’s seriousness by dating it out of the Platonic Always, where it ought to reside.
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