All my life I have written letters - to our mother, our relatives, a wide circle of friends and acquaintance, to my husband, to you. Correspondence has always been as necessary to my happiness as a we...
My horse is plodding down a path unspooling under her hooves like a ball of wool, only wider, while I think of ways to wake kings or small children or writers, all of whom seem to be constantly sleepi...
Mama
Mam said I was growing up. I felt that I was dying.
Anybody who can get through March without breaking a glass, a friendship, a secret, a promise, or somebody's nose is either a saint or on vacation in Florida.
His mama beat him with an ugly stick so hard, it gone straight on till his soul.
What was the good of dreaming of adventure if you turned your back on the first one that came your way?
