At that moment, beauty itself struck me as a kind of painful melancholy.

What is peace? Balance three iron skewers tip to tip, one upon the other; at the summit, emplace an egg, so that it too poises static in mid-air, and there you have the condition of peace in this world of men.

need a poet who can really write. Nowadays it seems like ‘many are gone, and those that live are bad’.12

When I&#39;m writing, I am concentrating almost wholly on concrete detail: the color a room is painted, the way a drop of water rolls off a wet leaf after a rain.

Written By Donna Tartt

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