Do you believe in ghosts?
Copper curls turned. I was stunned. The glasses were gone. Green eyes, bright as glass and as real,
Why do you come here, Aurelius?
What good is truth, at midnight, in the dark, when the wind is roaring like a bear in the chimney?
We live like latecomers to the theater; we must catch up as best we can, divining the begging from the shape of later events.
We had reached tipping point. It was no longer possible to call it a demolition site. Tomorrow, today perhaps, the workers would return and it would become a construction site. The past demolished, it...
We all have our sorrows, and although the exact delinaments, weight and dimensions of grief are different for everyone, the color of grief is common to us all. I know, he said, because he was human, a...
Todos tenemos nuestros dolores, y aunque la forma, el peso y las dimensiones del dolor son diferentes para cada persona, el color del dolor es común a todos nosotros.
Thomas Ambrose Proctor!
They were collectors of words the same way so many of the gravel diggers were collectors of fossils. They kept an ear constantly alert for them, the rare, the unusual, the unique.
They are more real than the books on the shelves, books that are sketched with the barest hint of a line here and there, fading in places to a ghostly nothingness. Why recall the picture now, you must...
There is something about words. In expert hands, manipulated deftly, they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move, they pi...
The mist was almost gone. The magical shapes of the topiary had lost their charm and looked like the unkempt bushes and hedges they were.
The laws of life and death, as she had learned them, were incomplete. There was more to life, more to death, than medical science had known.
The beginning, perhaps. The girl without the mother. But after that . . . I wish someone could tell me what it means. I wish there was someone who could just tell me the truth.
That name was Adeline March.
Terminado el entierro, por fin podría llorar.
Still in my coat and hat, I sank onto the stair to read the letter. (I never read without making sure I am in a secure position. I have been like this ever since the age of seven when, sitting on a hi...
Sometimes you can know things. Things about yourself. Things from before you can remember.
She was a do-gooder, which means that all the ill she did, she did without realizing it.