Jennifer Haigh is an American novelist and short story writer.
The story of my family. . . changes with the teller.
That renunciation of human closeness, of our deepest instincts: is it, in the end, simply too much to ask? Good men-sound, healthy men-can't make the sacrifice, or don't want to; has Holy Mother settled for the unsound and unhealthy? Has the Church, ever pragmatic, made do with what is left?
Writing fiction, like reading fiction, is a practice in empathy.
The human heart: its expansions and contractions its electrics and hydraulics the warm tides that move and fill it. For years Art had studied it from a safe distance from many perspectives. . . he listened in fascination and revulsion, in envy and pity. He dispensed canned wisdom, a little scripture. He sent them on their way with a prayer.
I wanted only a familiar voice, someone who knew me. Not some earlier, larval version of myself. . .
It was a lesson most people learned much earlier; that even friendship could have an undisclosed shelf life. That loyalty and affection, so consuming and powerful, could dissipate like fog.
Morarji Desai
Robert Emmet
Lloyd deMause
John MacAulay
Jim Stafford
Philippe de Commines
John H. Vandenberg
Sergey Brin
Shaukat Aziz
Jason Robert Brown
Edward Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton
Rhys Darby