The fingers of your thoughts are molding your face ceaselessly.

- Charles Reznikoff

Among the heaps of brick and plaster lies/ a girder, still itself among the rubbish

- Charles Reznikoff

The miracle, of course, was not that the oil for the sacred light - in a little cruse - lasted as long as they say; but that the courage of the Macca…

- Charles Reznikoff

I will walk by myself and cure myself in the sunshine and the wind.

- Charles Reznikoff

The street curves in and out, up and down in great waves of asphalt; at night the granite tomb is noisy with starlings like the creaking of many axle…

- Charles Reznikoff