In the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which sits so large and many-stepped on Fifth Avenue in New York, there is a section on the first floor referred to as the sculpture garden, and I must have walked past this particular sculpture many times with my husband, and with the children as they got older, me thinking only of getting food for the kids, and never really knowing what a person did in a museum of this nature where there were so many things to look at. In the middle of these needs and worries is a statue. And only recently–in the last few years–when the light was hitting it with a splendid wash, did I stop and look at it and say: Oh.
-Elizabeth Strout, My Name Is Lucy Barton: A Novel
In the beginning, or right before that, there was no time. According to cosmologists, the universe started nearly fourteen billion years ago with a “big bang” and in an instant expanded to something closer to its current size, and it continues to expand faster than the speed of light. Before all that, though, there was nothing: no mass, no matter, no energy, no gravity, no motion, no change. No time.
It is now widely known that the drug war has caused tremendous damage–especially in the low-income African American communities that have been its primary target….Blacks are much more likely than whites to be arrested, convicted, and incarcerated for drug offenses, even though blacks are no more likely than whites to use drugs.
-James Forman, Jr., Locking Up our Own: Crime and Punishment in Black America
My name is Livia and I come from Bucharest.
We have a saying in my country: Totul trebuie sa aiba un inceput. Which means: Everything must have a beginning. So I will begin my story like this.
I have been living in London for more than five years, and my job is taking the dogs of very rich people for their daily walk. Most of my clients live in Chelsea. I used to live there myself but then the rents became so high that I moved out to Wandsworth so now every day I begin by taking a bus across the river. I look out through the windows of the bus as we cross the bridge, and from that point on, every time the bus gets to another stop I can see the signs of wealth more and more clearly inscribed in the streets and feel the air itself getting heavier with the tangy scent of money.
-Jonathan Coe, Number 11: A Novel
There’s a hospital room at the end of a life where someone, right in the middle of the floor, has pitched a green tent. A person wakes up inside it, breathless and afraid, not knowing where he is. A young man sitting next to him whispers:
“Don’t be scared.”
-Fredrik Backman, And Every Morning the Way Home Gets Longer and Longer: A Novella
A quarter of a mile below and eight hundred miles away, fifteen-year-old Zema and twenty-three-year-old Parker are pulling out of Flagstaff onto Interstate 40 in their silver Camry when she reads the news on her cell phone. “The Twin Towers,” she informs her brother, “just showed up in South Dakota.”
-Steve Erickson, Shadowbahn: A Novel
I didn’t want to go back to L.A. Just being there made me feel like a willing part of a global conspiracy. A perpetual fraud selling the lie that a bunch of suburbs connected only by traffic and false kindness could qualify as a city. But I had a lead. Someone who had seen Gladstone after the shit went down. When he was on the run from the same men who will no doubt come for me.
-Wayne Gladstone, Reports on the Internet Apocalypse
Many of us think that globalization is exclusively a modern phenomenon–that technology and air travel have ushered in a new era in which societies that were closed off from one another now finally can be connected. But if that’s the case, then why were Confucius, Socrates, and the Buddha addressing similar philosophical questions at roughly the same time 2,500 years ago, despite living in completely different places, separated by such great distances, and speaking completely different languages?
-Michael Puett and Christine Gross-Low, The Path: What Chinese Philosophers Can Teach Us About the Good Life
Accounts of George Herriman’s arrival in New York City are livened with the blend of facts and storytelling that is the hallmark of early newspaper humor writing. Some stories are Herriman’s own creations. Others are from friends. Some tales are plausible, other ludicrous. Herriman acknowledged this years later when an interviewer came to his house to ask about the early days. “I think it would be a good thing if you had two or three men all together,” he said. “Maybe they would be telling the truth.”
-Michael Tisserand, Krazy: George Herriman, a Life in Black and White
Terror, as a strategy, rarely succeeds, except in one respect: it creates repression on the part of the state or the occupying power. This is an expected and longed-for goal of terrorists, who seek to counter the state’s vast military advantage by forcing it to overreact, generating popular support for their cause.
-Lawrence Wright, The Terror Years: From Al-Queda to the Islamic State