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Quote by Gary Lutz

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Stories in the Worst Way

This book compiles a series of short narratives that delve into the darker aspects of human experience, presenting tales that are often unsettling and thought-provoking. more

Author

Gary Lutz
Gary Lutz

Gary Lutz (born 1955) is an American writer, essayist, and creative writing teacher known for his highly experimental prose style and meticulous attention to sentence structure. His work often explores themes of loneliness, alienation, and the absurdities of everyday life. Lutz is the author of several short story collections, including Stories in the Worst Way and Partial List of People to Bleach. He has taught creative writing at the University of Pittsburgh for many years and is regarded as a 'writer's writer' within avant-garde literary circles. His influence extends to the field of experimental fiction and writing pedagogy. more

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“Lost. He understood that men were forever strangers to one another, that no one ever comes really to know any one, that imprisoned in the dark womb of our mother, we come to life without having seen her face, that we are given to her arms a stranger, and that, caught in that insoluble prison of being, we escape it never, no matter what arms may clasp us, what mouth may kiss us, what heart may warm us. Never, never, never, never, never.”

“He could have been invisible and it wouldn’t have made a difference to them. He didn’t care, so long as he felt at ease, which was his original intention. He wasn’t there to make friends, nor did he want to.”

“Well, that was the end of me, the real end. Two pound ten every Tuesday and a room of the Gray's Inn Road. Saved, rescued and with my place to hide in - what more did I want? I crept in and hid. The lid of the coffin shut down with a bang. Now I no longer wish to be loved, beautiful, happy or successful. I want one thing and one thing only - to be left alone. No more pawings, no more pryings - leave me alone.”

“Sad truth is. . . we all end up alone on some death bed. Yeah? No way to take anybody else's place and no way we can be lying on the same one.” I was at the edge of the white-wed cloth. My shoes filled with concrete, as did my head, looking at the empty shell of what was once a woman full of wonder. “Any way to make someone feel not so alone?” she asked. “The only thing anyone can ever do is help someone feel a little less lonely before they get there.” “How does someone do that?” “Memories. Help create memories. Better ones. Ones to replace the old.”