They went on in the perfect blackness, sightless as the blind.
They spoke less and less between them until at last they were silent altogether as is often the way with travelers approaching the end of a journey.
There were times when he sat watching the boy sleep that he would begin to sob uncontrollably but it wasn't about death. He wasn't sure what it was about but he thought it was about beauty or goodness...
There is no such joy in the tavern as upon the road thereto, said the Mennonite.
Then he just knelt in the ashes. He raised his face to the paling day. Are you there? he whispered. Will I see you at the last? Have you a neck by which to throttle you? Have you a heart? Damn you ete...
The world is quite ruthless in selecting between the dream and the reality, even where we will not.
The solitary pilgrim drawn up before it had traveled far to be here and he knelt in the hot sand and held his numbed hands out while all about in that circle attended companies of lesser auxiliaries r...
The sacred idiom shorn of its referents and so of its reality.
The immappable world of our journey. A pass in the mountains. A bloodstained stone. The marks of steel upon it. Names carved in the corrosible lime among stone fishes and ancient shells. Things dimmed...
The freedom of birds is an insult to me. I'd have them all in zoos.That would be a hell of a zoo.The judge smiled. Yes, he said. Even so.
The events of the world can have no separate life from the world. And yet the world itself can have no temporal view of things. It can have no cause to favor certain enterprises over others. The passi...
The drought didnt know when the last one was and nobody knew when the next one was coming.
The crimes of the moonlight melonmounter followed him as crimes will.
The black shape of it running from dark to dark. Then a distant low rumble. Not thunder. You could feel it under your feet. A sound without cognate and so without description. Something imponderable s...
Tell us where the world went.
Sparse on the mesa the dry weeds lashed in the wind like the earth’s long echo of lance and spear in old encounters forever unrecorded.
Somebody has been fuckin my watermelons.
So what is the way of raising a child? At a young age, said the judge, they should be put in a pit with wild dogs. They should be set to puzzle out from their proper clues the one of three doors that...
She went to the window and looked out. The ground fell away to a branch where willows burned lime green in the sunset. Dark little birds kept crossing the fields to the west like heralds of some comin...
She said that her grandmother was skeptical of many things in this world and of none more than men. She said that in every trade save war men of talent and vigor prosper. In war they die. Her grandmot...