Times are you say a person’s b’liefs ain’t true, they think you’re sayin’ their lifes ain’t true an’ their truth ain’t true.
Three or four times only in my youth did I glimpse the Joyous Isles, before they were lost to fogs, depressions, cold fronts, ill winds and contrary tides … I mistook them for adulthood. Assuming they...
This, explained the angel, is hell. The people do not love each other. They only want to feed themselves.
This is my moral. Trust what you dream. Not what you think.
The only explanation is that my senses, memory, and mind are conspiring against my well-being, and nothing’s scarier than that.
The one dog who barks at nothing answered by a thousand dogs barking at something …’
The human world is made of stories, not people. The people the stories use to tell themselves are not to be blamed
The dust was deep and crisp and even.
The days when I had that kind of spondulics at my beck and call are gone, gone, gone! Our house is mortgaged, twice over!
Sunlight bent around the world, lending fragile color to wildflowers.
Sulkers Binge on lonely fantasies.
Still. Mariângela says that the best way to work with dementia is to act as if the person you knew is still inside the wreckage. If you’re wrong, and the person you knew is gone, then no damage is don...
Southly thru shrubby heath we tromped now till we got to wideway. Wideway I'd heard o' from storymen an' here it was, an open, long, flat o' roadstone. SAplin's'n'bush was musclin' up but wondersome'n...
So you’re a sort of archivist for the future,
She pulsed, invisibly, like a quasar. I can't describe women, but if you know Duke Pearson's 'After the rain', she was as beautiful and pure as that. Real things had happened to her to make her how sh...
Self pity, Orito reminds herself yet again, is a noose dangling from a rafter.
Prejudice is permafrost
Poor England. Too much history for its acreage. Years grow inwards here, like my toenails.
Places change you, Miss Timms, and deserts change us pale northerners so much, our own mothers wouldn’t recognize us.
Photographs make me forget if time is forwards or backwards. No, photographs make me wonder if there is a forwards or backwards.