I write some art criticism, and one thing that's clear to me is that politics is fashionable in the American art world in a way it maybe isn't in American fiction. Your work of art becomes fashionable the moment it has some kind of political commentary. I think this has its dangers - the equation between fashion, politics, and art is problematic for obvious reasons. Nonetheless, the notion of politics as being de rigueur in the world of fiction is almost unthinkable. In fiction in America at the moment, the escape into whimsy is far more prevalent than the political.
Once a word has been allowed to escape, it cannot be recalled.
It is always the same with mountains. Once you have lived with them for any length of time, you belong to them. There is no escape.
I’ve got to sleep. Sleep is my only way to escape.
Life has never interested me so much as the escape from life.
You think you got something big to say? Something momentous? Or is it what you had to memorize in order to escape the men with lightning in their eyes?
I never knew a man escape failures, in either mind or body, who worked seven days in a week.
When you live on the road, going home is a place to escape and just be with your family to unwind.
Why could she remember nothing but stories of frightened people when Capricorn looked at her? She usually found it so easy to escape somewhere else, to get right inside the minds of people and animals who existed only on paper, so why not now? Because she was afraid. "Because fear kills everything," Mo had once told her. "Your mind, your heart, your imagination.
Don't let a breath escape from your body without Krishna's name. That should be our determination throughout our life.