Nathan Hill Quotes

Beyond everything else, she loves this: how swiftly things can strike her - music, people, life - how quickly they can surprise her, all of a sudden, like a punch.

People love each other for many reasons, not all of them good," she said. "They love each other because it's easy. Or because they're used to it. Or because they've given up. Or because they're scared. People can be a Nix for each other.

But you cannot endure this world alone, and the more Samuel's written his book, the more he's realized how wrong he was. Because if you see people as enemies or obstacles or traps, you will be at constant war with them and with yourself. Whereas if you choose to see people as puzzles, and if you see yourself as a puzzle, then you will be constantly delighted, because eventually, if you dig deep enough into anybody, if you really look under the hood of someone's life, you will find something familiar.

The things we love the most are the most disfiguring. Such is our greed for them.

It's no secret that the great American pastime is no longer baseball. Now it's sanctimony.

Imagine a single drop of water: that's the protest. Now put that drop of water into a bucket: that's the protest movement. Now drop that bucket into Lake Michigan: that's Reality. But old Cronkite knows the danger of television is that people begin seeing the entire world through that single drop of water. How that one drop refracts the light becomes the whole picture. For

Of course, eating these food items is not what I might describe as pleasant, since they're tough and scorched and moistureless from their all-day cooking on high-temperature rollers. Sometimes biting through a burrito's thick tortilla casing can feel like chewing through your own toe calluses." "That's an image that's going to linger.

The nurses in Willow Glen didn't try to prevent death. But they did try to guide you to die in the right way. Because if you died from something you weren't supposed to die from, families became suspicious.

Steak and chicken have too much baggage these days. Was it free-range? Antibiotic-free? Cruelty-free? Organic? Kosher? Did the farmer wear silken gloves to caress it to sleep every night while singing gentle lullabies? You can't order a fucking hamburger anymore without embracing some kind of political platform.

to order and that whole inner debate one usually has when ordering food at a restaurant would be vocalized and performed for the express purpose of filling space, of jamming the silence so full of meaningless idle chitchat that they'd never get around to talking about the thing they never talked about but were always thinking: that if they had been born into a generation that found divorce more acceptable, they would have left each other so long ago. For decades they had avoided this subject. It was like they'd come to an agreement - they were who they were, they were born when they were born, they were taught that divorce was wrong, and they openly disapproved of other couples, younger couples, who divorced, while secretly feeling bolts of envy at these couples' ability to split and remarry and become happy again.

Eventually, all debts must be repaid.

You know, there used to be a difference between authentic music and sellout music. I'm talking about when I was young, in the sixties? Back then we knew there was a soullessness to the sellouts, and we wanted to be on the side of the artists. But now? Being a sellout is the authentic thing. When Molly Miller says 'I'm just being real,' what she means is that everyone wants money and fame and any artist who claims otherwise is lying. the only fundamental truth is greed, and the only question is who is up front about this. That's the new authenticity. Molly Miler can never be accused of selling out because selling out was her goal all along.

In America, the government is accountable to the people, not the other way around," says a constitutional law scholar sympathetic to the antiwar movement on the subject of the anonymous police.

In case you haven't noticed, the word has pretty much given up on the old Enlightenment idea of piecing together the truth based on observed data. Reality is too complicated and scary for that. Instead, it's way easier to ignore all the data that doesn't fit your preconceptions and what you believe, and we'll agree to disagree.

Mostly what they wanted out of life was to be left alone. But you cannot endure this world alone, and the more Samuel's written his book, the more he's realized how wrong he was. Because if you see people as enemies or obstacles or traps, you will be at constant war with them and with yourself. Whereas if you choose to see people as puzzles, and if you see yourself as a puzzle then you will be constantly delighted, because eventually, if you dig deep enough into anybody, if you really look under the hood of someone's life, you will find something familiar. This is more work, of course, than believing they are enemies. Understanding is always harder than plain hatred. But it expands your life. You will feel less alone.

What a treacherous thing a body was, how it so blatantly acted out the mind's secrets.

Love, when freely given, duplicates and multiplies. Still,

You have to be careful," Pwnage said, "with people who are puzzles and people who are traps. A puzzle can be solved but a trap cannot. Usually what happens is you think someone's a puzzle until you realize they're a trap. But by then it's too late. That's the trap.

the people in your life are either enemies, obstacles, puzzles, or traps.

Love is like this, Faye thinks now. We love people because they love us. It's narcissistic. It's best to be perfectly clear about this and not let abstractions like fate and destiny muddle the issue. Peggy, after all, could have picked any boy in the school.

Everyone loves a prodigy [...]. Prodigies get us off the hook for living ordinary lives. We can tell ourselves we're not special because we weren't born with it, which is a great excuse.

You never even decided that your life would be this way. It's simply the way it's become. You've been carved out by the things that have happened to you like how the canyon can't tell the river which way to shape it. It just allows it to be cut.

a trauma that breaks you into brand new pieces.

It's because a lighthouse is two-faced, and this is how she feels each time she visits. A lighthouse is both an invitation and a warning. A lighthouse says Welcome home. But next to that, right after that, it also says Danger.

He would never be a musical genius, but he could be a person a musical genius loved. Such were the spoils of love, he realized, that her success was also, by some odd refraction, his.

Coming home at the end of a long day to someone who's glad you're back, is the feeling that keeps him logging on and playing upward of forty hours a week in preparation for a raid like this, when he gathers with his anonymous online friends and together they go kill something big and deadly.

A dormitory was a hopeless idea. Whoever thought of encasing two hundred girls in a concrete box?

The only fundamental truth is greed, and the only question is who is up front about this. That's the new authenticity.

What's true? What's false? In case you haven't noticed, the world has pretty much given up on the old Enlightenment idea of piecing together the truth based on observed data. Reality is too complicated and scary for that. Instead, it's way easier to ignore all data that doesn't fit your preconceptions and believe all data that does. I believe what I believe, and you believe what you believe, and we'll agree to disagree. It's liberal tolerance meets dark ages denialism. It's very hip right now.

Books. Sure. But mostly I build interest. Attention. Allure. A book is just packaging, just a container. This is what I've realized. The mistake people in the book business make is they think their job is to build good containers. Saying you're in the book business is like a winemaker saying he's in the bottle business. What we're actually building is interest. A book is simply one shape that interest can take when we scale and leverage it.

They turned on the television and saw some news story about another goddamn humanitarian crisis, another goddamn civil war in some godforsaken place, and saw images of wounded people or starving children and felt a bright, bitter anger at the children for invading and ruining the only moments of relaxation and "me time" the neighbors had all day. The neighbors would get a little indignant here, about how their own lives were hard too, and yet nobody heard them complaining about it. everyone had problems - why couldn't they just quietly deal with them? On their own? With a bit of self-respect? Why did they have to get everyone else involved? It's not like the neighbors could do anything. It's not like civil wars were their fault.

That, paradoxically, narrowing her concerns had made her more capable of love and generosity and empathy and, yes, even peace and justice. It was the difference between loving something out of duty - because the movement required it of you - and loving something you actually loved. Love - real, genuine, unasked-for love - made room for more of itself, it turned out. Love, when freely given, duplicates and multiplies.

Any problem you face in a video game or in life is one of four things: an enemy, obstacle, puzzle, or trap. That's it. Everyone you meet in life is one of those four things.

They're in southern France. Oldest paintings ever found there. We're talking like thirty thousand years old. Scenes typical of the Paleolithic - horses, cattle, mammoths, that kind of thing. No pictures of humans but one depiction of a vagina, for what that's worth. The really interesting thing is what happened when they carbon-dated the place. They found pictures in the same room painted six thousand years apart. They looked identical."

"Okay. So?"

"So think about that. For six thousand years there was no progress and no evidence of any impulse to change anything. People were fine with the way things were. In other words, this is not a people experiencing spiritual desolation. You and I need new diversions nightly. These people didn't change a thing for sixty centuries. This is not a people tired of their snack routine."

The drumming outside escalates for a moment and then fades "back into a kind of ominous tolling.

"Melancholy," Periwinkle says, "had to be invented. Civilization had this unintended side effect, which is melancholy. Tedium. Routine. Gloom. And when those things were birthed, so were people like me, to attend to them. So no, it's not patriotism. It's evolution.

He's looking for people he can be himself around. Aren't we all?

In class, Laura almost always stares into her lap, where she hides her phone. She thinks if the phone is in her lap she has effectively concealed it. She has no idea how obvious and transparent this maneuver is. Samuel has not asked her to stop checking her phone in class, mostly so he can savage her grade at the end of the semester when he doles out "participation points.

There is no greater ache than this: guilt and regret in equal measure.

Time heals many things because it sets us on trajectories that make the past seem impossible.

And I told you to bring nine toys, she said. you bought eight. Next time try to pay more attention. And the disappointment in her voice made him cry even harder, so hard that he couldn't talk and thus he couldn't tell her that he put eight toys in the wagon because the ninth toy was the wagon itself.

Samuel thought how his father married to his mother was like a spoon married to a garbage disposal.

When Samuel was a child reading a Choose Your Own Adventure novel, he'd keep a bookmark at the spot of a very hard decision, so that if the story turned out poorly, he could go back and try again. More than anything he wants life to behave this way.

The things you love the most will one day hurt you the worst.

Sometimes what we avoid most is not pain but mystery.

Listen, Samuel, really, voice of experience here? It's a terrible burden, being idealistic. It discolors everything you'll do later. It will haunt you constantly for all time as you become the inevitably cynical person the world requires you to be. Just give up on it now, the idealism, doing the right thing. Then you'll have nothing to regret later." "Thanks. I'll be in touch.

The best way to feel like you really belong to a group is to invent another group to hate. Which

It's no secret that most memoirs are really self-help books in disguise.

In the story of the blind men and the elephant, what's usually ignored is the fact that each man's description was correct. What Faye won't understand and may never understand is that there is not one true self hidden by many false ones. Rather, there is one true self hidden by many other true ones. Yes, she is the meek and shy and industrious student. Yes, she is the panicky and frightened child. Yes, she is the bold and impulsive seductress. Yes, she is the wife, the mother. And many other things as well. Her belief that only one of these is true obscures the larger truth, which was ultimately the problem with the blind men and the elephant. It wasn't that they were blind - it's that they stopped too quickly, and so never knew there was a larger truth to grasp.

Yes, he'd like to go back to that night and make a different decision. He's like to erase these last several years-years that, as he sees them now, are long and indistinguishable, and monotonous and angry. Or maybe he'd go further back than that, back far enough to see Bishop again, to help him. Or to convince his mom not to leave. But even that wouldn't be far enough to recover whatever it is he lost, whatever he sacrificed to his mother's brutal influence, that real part of him that was buried when he started trying to please her. What kind of person would he have become had his instincts not been screaming at him that his mother was moments from leaving? Was he ever free of that weight? Was he ever authentically himself?

These are the questions you ask when you're cracking up. When you suddenly recognize that not only are you living a life you never intended to lead but also you are feeling assaulted and punished by the life you have. You begin searching for those early wrong turns. What moment led you into the maze? You being thinking the entrance to the maze might also be the exit, and if you can identify the moment you screwed up then you can perform some huge course correction and save yourself.

When he told Faye about the Nix, he said the moral was: Don't trust things that are too good to be true. But then she grew up and came to a new conclusion, which she told Samuel in the month before leaving the family. She told him the same story but added her own moral: "The things you love the most will one day hurt you the worst." Samuel

Blaming his students for being uninspired was so much easier than doing the work required to inspire them.

Perhaps, sir, for our purposes, sir, you shouldn't think of it as your mother abandoned you. Instead, perhaps think of it as she gave you up for adoption slightly later than usual.

And do you want to marry him?"
"Maybe. I don't know."
"That kind of indifference usually means no."
"It's not indifference. I just haven't made up my mind."
"Either you want to marry him more than anything in the world, or you say no. It's very simple."
"It's not simple," Faye said. "Not at all. You don't understand."
"So explain it to me."
"Okay, here's what it's like. Imagine you're feeling desperately thirsty. Like insanely thirsty. All you can think about is a big tall glass of water. Got it?"
"Got it."
"And you fantasize about this big tall glass of water, and the fantasy is really vivid in your head, but it does not actually quench your thirst."
"Because you can't drink the imaginary glass of water."
"Right. So you look around and see this murky, oily puddle of water and mud. It's not exactly the tall glass of water but it does have the advantage of being wet. It's real, whereas the tall glass of water is not. And so you choose the oily mud puddle, even though it's not really what you'd prefer.

We are more politically fanatical than ever before, more religiously zealous, more rigid in our thinking, less capable of empathy. The way we see the world is totalizing and unbreakable. We are completely avoiding the problems that diversity and worldwide communication imply. Thus, nobody cares about antique ideas like true or false.

Maybe desire was best left unspoken.

It was an unspoken fact that she could leave at any moment with very little pain, whereas he would be devastated. A puddle of rejection. Because he knew nothing like this would ever happen to him again for the rest of his life. He would never again find a woman like Alice, and after she was gone he would return to the life she had revealed to be tedious and barren.

It's the great flaw of journalism. The more something happens, the less newsworthy it is.

What you call conflict of interest, I call synergy.

She has never before given herself over to anyone-she'd always parceled herself out little by little. This bit for Samuel, some small part for her father, barely anything for Henry. She'd never put all of herself in just one place. It felt too risky. Because her great and constant fear all these years was that if anyone ever came to know all of her--the real her, the true deep essential Faye--they would not find enough stuff there to love. Hers was not a soul large enough to nourish another.

It's all arbitrary. Had Faye attended a different school. Had her parents moved away. Had Peggy been sick that day. Had she chosen a different boy. And on and on. A thousand permutations, a million possibilities, and almost all of them kept Faye from sitting here in the sand with Henry.

Would this make sense to the TV audience? That a thing like a protest expands and draws everything into it. He wants to tell his audience that the reality they are seeing on television is not Reality. Imagine a single drop of water: that's the protest. Now put that drop of water into a bucket: that's the protest movement. Now drop that bucket into Lake Michigan: that's Reality. But old Cronkite knows the danger of television is that people begin seeing the entire world through that single drop of water. How that one drop refracts the light becomes the whole picture. For many people, whatever they see tonight will cement in place everything they think about protest and peace and the sixties. And he feels, pressingly, that it's his job to prevent this closure.

Anger was such an easy emotion to feel, the refuge of someone who didn't want to work too hard. Because his