Every step you take, a million doors open in front of you like poppies; your next step closes them, and another million bloom. You get on a train, you pick up a lamp, you speak, you don’t. What decides why one thing gets picked to be the way it will be? Accident? Fate? Some weakness in ourselves? Forget your harps, your tin-foil angels—the only heaven worth having would be the heaven of answers.

Mark Slouka

Mots clés fate chance

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Kafka didn't save me. He just told me I was drowning.

Mark Slouka

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Life isn't simple. Literature shouldn't be either.

Mark Slouka

Mots clés life literature

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Maybe I lacked coping skills. Maybe I was weak. I cared for people for no better reason than they seemed to care for me, acknowledge me. It didn’t seem so dangerous at the time.

Mark Slouka

Mots clés people weakness coping brewster mark-slouka

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