My Salinger Year

Well, Flaubert is all well and good, but to work in publishing, you need to be reading writers who are alive.

There would be other blizzards in New York, but none that generated such silence, none in which I could stand on a street corner and feel myself to be the only person in the universe, none, certainly that stopped the city entire. By the time the next blizzard of such proportions arrived, the world had changed. Silence was no longer possible.

thinking she’d passed into a deeper state than sleep.