The space which [books] occupied was itself an expectation.
You are either born a writer or you are not.
His other few possessions lay about in the grotto where chance had arranged them.
Like most men skilled at their work they were scornful of any least suggestion of knowing anything not learned at first hand.
You have my whole heart. You always did. You're the best guy. You always were.
There was no wind and the silence out there was greatly favored by every kind of fugitive as was the open country itself and no mountains close at hand for enemies to black themselves against.
There is no book and your fathers are dead in the ground.
The wind sounded of Mother Earth's forsaken and abandoned cries.
The truth about the world, he said, is that anything is possible. Had you not seen it all from birth and thereby bled it of its strangeness it would appear to you for what it is, a hat trick in a medi...
The spotlight kept rowing back and forth across the face of the ridge. Methodically. Bright shuttle, dark loom.
The father dead has euchered the son out of his patrimony. For it is the death of the father to which the son is entitled and to which he is heir, more so than his goods. He will not hear of the small...
That he could not enkindle in the heart of the child what was ashes in his own.
That god lives in silence who has scoured the following land with salt and ash.
Sometimes you have a little problem and you dont fix it and then all of a sudden it aint a littleproblem anymore.
Query: How does the never to be differ from what never was?
Only nature can enslave man and only when the existence of each last entity is routed out and made to stand naked before him will he be properly suzerain of the earth.
On this road there are no godspoke men. They are gone and I am left and they have taken with them the world. Query: How does the never to be differ from what never was?
On Gay Street the traffic lights are stilled. The trolleyrails gleam in their beds and a late car passes with a long slish of tires. In the long arcade of the bus station footfalls come back like laug...
No lists of things to be done. The day providential to itself. The hour. There is no later. This is later.
No lists of things to be done. The day providential to itself. The hour. There is no later. This is later. All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one's heart have a common provenan...