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When I crossed the ocean, I carried with me the habit of speaking to the shadows, and it became my way of life. I look up at the stars that were extinguished long ago. For me they still shine with the…
Something is wrong between me and the story I want to write. Whatever subject I touch on, after five or four, sometimes even two pages, either the story throws me out or I throw myself out. As if I…
After I published my son’s literary estate in a book, I still had a few scraps of writing and documents of various kinds that I didn’t know how to put together with everything that seemed clear and…
Murray:People fall into two distinct categories. Miss Markowitz; people who like delicatessen, and people who don’t like delicatessen. A man who is not touched by the earthy lyricism of hot…
You, my dear, will survive me and remember.
How could it be otherwise?
—From a letter
Old people? What can you write about old people?
They barely feel anything!
—From a conversation
…He heard a thud in the living room, heard a thud, and couldn’t identify it: “Are you all right?” he called.
“I was just being careless,” M called back. “I’m all right.”
“You fell. Poor kid. What’d…
Superimposed upon my face in the mirror is my mother’s. I am about to comb my hair, but here she is, brushing hers, her thick, wavy, white hair.
We quarrelled about hair.
“D…
My father and mother were left alone and sat down for a moment; then my father said: “Well, shall we go up to bed?”
“As you wish, dear, though I don’t feel in the least like sleeping. I don’t know why…
The anthologist, like the historian and the novelist, is an autobiographer is disguise. He is driven into the jungles and watering places of literature by instinct as well as by design. The ultimate…
About two weeks before the birth was due, Grandfather Zisskind appeared in Raya and Yehuda’s home for the second time. His face was yellow, angry, and the light had faded from his eyes. He greeted…