She had learned, in her life, that time lived inside you. You are time, you breathe time. When she'd been young, she'd had an insatiable hunger for m…

- David Wroblewski

In that dilated moment after sunset when the sky holds all the light.

- David Wroblewski

That mirror, that's one I hate to let go, he said. That was my daughter's the whole time she was growing up. It probably seen her more than me--every…

- David Wroblewski

Life was a swarm of accidents waiting in the treetops, descending upon any living thing that passed, ready to eat them alive. You swam in a river of …

- David Wroblewski

No one can say if you are that person who, given good paint, good brushes, and a fine canvas, can produce something better than the factory man. That…

- David Wroblewski

It is as true for the writer as for the reader that any novel worth its ink should be an experience first and foremost—not an essay, not a statement,…

- David Wroblewski

Just when normal life felt almost possible - when the world held some kind of order, meaning, even loveliness (the prismatic spray of light through a…

- David Wroblewski

That was how it was, sometimes. You put yourself in front of the thing and waited for whatever was going to happen and that was all. It scared you an…

- David Wroblewski

Nothing is going to happen to me, or you, for that matter. Anything can happen, though. Anything can happen. But most always, just normal things happ…

- David Wroblewski