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It was like autumn, looking at her. it was like driving up north to see the colors.

Jeffrey Eugenides

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Jeffrey Eugenides
Age: 64
Born: 1960
Born: March 8
Novelist
University Teacher
Writer
Detroit
Michigan
Jeffrey Kent Eugenides
Autumn
Colors
North
Driving
Color
Looking
Like
Provence

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The time has to be right and the heart willing.
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I'd like to have a word for 'the sadness inspired by failing restaurants' as well as for 'the excitement of getting a room with a minibar.
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Winter is the season of alcoholism and despair.
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What I do when I create a character is put in details from all the people I know who might be like that person, and then put in a huge amount of myself.
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Dieting fooled you into thinking you could control your life.
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She understood that her heart operated on its own instructions, that she had no control over it or, indeed, anything else.
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At night the cries of cats making love or fighting, their caterwauling in the dark, told us that the world was pure emotion, flung back and forth among its creatures, the agony of the one-eyed Siamese no different from that of the Lisbon girls, and even the trees plunged in feeling.
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I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkably smogless Detroit day in January of 1960 and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan, in August of 1974.
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I'm constantly having doubts and moments of depression and then excitement and then back into the slough of despond.
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The girls took into their own hands decisions better left to God. They became too powerful to live among us, too self-concerned, too visionary, too blind.
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Paris was a museum displaying exactly itself.
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One of the reasons that art is important to me is sometimes it actually feels more coherent than life. It orders the chaos.
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Basically what we have here is a dreamer. Somebody out of touch with reality. When she jumped, she probably thought she'd fly
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it's amazing what you can get used to.
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Regret, already sogging me down, burst its dam. It seeped into my legs, it pooled in my heart.
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Everyone struggles against despair, but it always wins in the end. It has to. It's the thing that lets us say goodbye.
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And in some of the houses, people were getting old and sick and were dying, leaving others to grieve. It was happening all the time, unnoticed, and it was the thing that really mattered. What really mattered in life, what gave it weight, was death.
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The following doodle: a girl with pigtails is bent under the weight of a gigantic boulder. Her cheeks puff out, and her rounded lips expel steam. One widening steam cloud contains the word Pressure, darkly retraced.
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Capitalism has resulted in material well-being but spiritual bankruptcy.
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