Often writing is like a struggle to get back to a kind of belated, quite impure virginity. — Harold Brodkey
Nothing I have ever written has been admired as much as the announcement of my death. — Harold Brodkey
True stories, autobiographical stories, like some novels, begin long ago, before the acts in the account — Harold Brodkey
Memory, so complete and clear or so evasive, has to be ended, has to be put aside, as if one were leaving — Harold Brodkey
So an autobiography about death should include, in my case, an account of european jewry and of — Harold Brodkey
It bothers me that I won’t live to see the end of the century, because, when I was young, in st. Louis — Harold Brodkey
It is death that goes down to the center of the earth, the great burial church the earth is — Harold Brodkey
It is like visiting one’s funeral, like visiting loss in its purest and most monumental form — Harold Brodkey
I have thousands of opinions still – but that is down from millions – and, as always, I know nothing. — Harold Brodkey
I look upon another’s insistence on the merits of his or her life – duties, intellect, accomplishment — Harold Brodkey
I was always crazy about new york, dependent on it, scared of it – well, it is dangerous — Harold Brodkey
If you like to read, sometimes it’s interesting just to go and see what the reality is, of the word — Harold Brodkey
In new york one lives in the moment rather more than socrates advised, so that at a party or alone in your — Harold Brodkey
I am sensible of the velocity of the moments, and entering that part of my head alert to the motion of — Harold Brodkey
I awake with a not entirely sickened knowledge that I am merely young again and in a funny way at peace — Harold Brodkey
I can’t change the past, and I don’t think I would. I don’t expect to be understood. — Harold Brodkey
I feel sorry for the man who marries you… because everyone thinks you’re sweet and you’re not. — Harold Brodkey
Almost the first thing I did when I became ill was to buy a truly good television set. — Harold Brodkey
Being ill like this combines shock – this time I will die – with a pain and agony that are unfamiliar — Harold Brodkey
I am in an adolescence in reverse, as mysterious as the first, except that this time — Harold Brodkey