Then he enthuses about coal. Consider a single piece glowing in your family’s stove. See it, children? That chunk of coal was once a green plant, a fern or reed that lived one million years ago, or ma...
The voice seems to echo in the architecture of his head
The right thing? There is pride, too,
Stirs the fire below them with a steel pole; a
Smaller than a speck of dust. Much smaller. Divide. Multiply. Add and subtract. Matter changes hands, atoms flow in and out, molecules pivot, proteins stitch together, mitochondria send out their oxid...
Smoldering skeletons of the seafront
Says, Shuts himself up like a corpse one day, eats like an
There is only chance in this world, chance and physics. Anyway,
Maybe living was no more than getting swept over a riverbed and eventually out to sea, no choices to make, only the vast, formless ocean ahead, the frothing waves, the lightless tomb of its depths.
Then the short man disappears through the huge doors. Minutes later, the aide-de-camp flings open the shutters of an upstairs window and gazes a moment across the rooftops before unfurling a crimson f...
When the wind is blowing, which it almost always is, with the walls groaning and the shutters banging, the rooms overloaded and the staircase wound tightly up through its center, the house seems the m...
Out in the forsaken city, every other structure, it seems, is burning or collapsing, but here in front of him is the inverse in miniature: the city remains, but the house he occupies is gone.
The universe is full of fuel.
My God, there are none so distant that fate cannot bring them together.
Appear,
Benediction. Below the window, on one of the bastioned
No footprints in the sand. Pebbles and bits of weed are strung in scalloped lines. Three outer islands bear low stone forts; a green lantern glows on the tip of a jetty. It feels appropriate somehow,...
Nothing will be healed in this kitchen. Some griefs can never be put right.
Electrons, the signal chain like a path through a crowded city,
To be a parent and take an occasional day off from being a parent is a special kind of joy—a lightening, a sweetness made sweeter by its impermanence. We buy tickets, find our seats. The
Showing 261 to 280 of 655 results