Stoner

The prose was graceful, and its passion was masked by a coolness and clarity of intelligence. It was herself he saw in what he read, he realized; and he marveled at how truly he could see her even now. Suddenly it was as if she were in the next room, and he had only moments before left her; his hands tingled, as if they had touched her. And the sense of his loss, that he had for so long dammed within him, flooded out, engulfed him, and he let himself be carried outward, beyond the control of his will; he did not wish to save himself.

he had wanted to be a teacher, and he had become one; yet he knew, he had always known, that for most of his life he had been an indifferent one. He had dreamed of a kind of integrity, of a kind of purity that was entire; he had found compromise and the assaulting diversion of triviality. He had conceived wisdom, and at the end of the long years he had found ignorance. And what else? he thought. What else?

They had forgiven themselves for the harm they had done each other, and they were rapt in a regard of what their life together might have been.

To a woman or to a poem, it said simply: Look! I am alive.

you can impress upon the world a sense of your importance.

ou're cut out for failure,

you're bright enough

None of them ever raised the question of that relationship

talking late into the night

got in the habit of meeting on Friday afternoons at a small saloon in downtown Columbia,