Michael Kurrier

“What I am interested in is a point at which knowing how to be and knowing how to write perhaps intersect. Everyone who writes imagines it in a certain way. . .”
― Daniele Del Giudice, Lo stadio di Wimbledon

“Our days are open and transparent, but enveloped too by the faintest membrane of time, almost imperceptible when our gaze passes through it to consider a single day on its own. But come another day, and another after that, the membrane will thicken, that which before was as clear as day will then be blurred and faintly obscured; come yet more and only the outlines will be perceptible, until they too recede and dissolve, and what happened inside them will then be hidden from us, sealed away by time.”
― Karl Ove Knausgård, The School of Night

“They were heading to an event the woman had heard about on Twitter and to which a famous billionaire with ambitions to resettle humankind on Mars had apparently shown up, but at some point the woman decided the photo was photoshopped, a promotional hoax, and redirected the driver towards a house party”
― Vincenzo Latronico, Perfection

“This is what the writer craves, in a café in the earliest hours, in an empty drawing room of a hotel, or scrawling in notebook in the pew of a silent cathedral. A sudden shaft of brightness containing the vibration of a particular moment. . . . The unsullied memory of unpremediated gestures of kindness. These are the bread of angels.”
― Patti Smith, Bread of Angels: A Memoir