Garima’s Reviews > The Moon in Its Flight > Status Update

it was self-love or self-actualization—whatever, it insisted on rapt attention to one’s inimitable Being. It was, no doubt, another polished grift, happily based on the surety that the most petty, vapid, selfish, envious, and useless people can be convinced that they live lives of real importance and consequence, are thinkers of subtly finespun thoughts, and, most importantly, deserve to be happy.

Writers often insist that they revise, again and again, everything that they write, for writing must be heartbreakingly difficult to be authentic, heartbreakingly and exhaustingly demanding.

He visited her almost daily at the hospital during her final confinement, bringing her flowers, magazines, books—once, quite unbelievably, he brought her a copy of As I Lay Dying: he had turned almost recklessly mean.

You are perfectly justified in scoffing at the outrageous transparency of it if I tell you that his wife said that he was so pale that he looked as if he had seen a ghost, but that is, indeed, what she said. Art cannot rescue anybody from anything.