Posts Tagged ‘laughter’

Quote of the day: LAUGHTER

November 2, 2021

LAUGHTER

I like to make people laugh. It’s like giving someone a flower.

–Harry Kondoleon


Quote of the day: LAUGHTER

October 5, 2015

LAUGHTER

What’s the last book that made you laugh?

In Princeton a few years ago I was lying in bed alone on a Monday night reading Leo Bersani’s “Is the Rectum a Grave?” Outside was the deep dark New Jersey night. It was winter. I gazed around my sublet bedroom; I looked at the title of the book. Then I stood up and went to the full-length mirror and peered into it. I thought: You are one sad man. And I laughed so much at that thought that I began to cry.

–Colm Toibin in the Sunday NY Times Book Review

colm toibin

Quote of the day: LAUGHTER

February 8, 2015

LAUGHTER

“My Father Laughing in the Chicago Theater”

His heavy body would double itself forward
At the waist, swell, and come heaving around
To slam at his seatback, making the screws groan
And squawk down half the row as it went tilting
Under my mother and me, under whoever
Was out of luck on the other side of him.
Like a boxer slipping punches, he’d lift his elbows
To flail and jerk, and his wide-open mouth
Would boom out four deep haaa’s to the end of his breath.

He was laughing at Burns and Allen or Jack Benny
In person or at his limitless engagement
With Groucho, Chico, and Harpo. While my mother
Sat there between us, gazing at the stage
And chuckling placidly, I watched with amazement
The spectacle of a helpless father, unmanned,
Disarmed by laughter. The tears would dribble
From under his bifocals, as real as sweat.
He would gape and gag, go limp, and spring back to life.

I would laugh too, but partly at him, afraid
Of becoming him. He could scowl anywhere,
Be solemn or blank in church or going to work,
Turn grim with a cold chisel, or he could smile
At babies or football games, but he only laughed
There in that theater. And up the aisle
And through the lobby to the parking lot
And all the way home, I’d see the glow on his cheeks
Fade to the usual hectic steelmill sunburn.

–David Wagoner

david wagoner poet

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