I see so little of you these days, Richard, he said. I feel that you’re becoming just a shadow in my life.
I felt I understood the secret grandeur of dying, all the knowledge held back from all humankind until the very end:
For if the modern mind is whimsical and discursive, the classical mind is narrow, unhesitating, relentless. It is not a quality of intelligence that one encounters frequently these days. But though I...
First things first: find my
Death is the mother of Beauty. And what is Beauty? Terror.
Cubitum eamus?What?Nothing.
But Beauty—unless she is wed to something more meaningful—is always superficial. It
Because, here’s the truth: life is catastrophe.
Barbour, who had come down to the curb with me, said smoothly:
As tiny as she was, the resemblance sounded: her coloring, her eyes, her head cocked at the same angle and hair as red as his.
And the nights, bigger than imagining: black and gusty and enormous, disordered and wild with stars.
And in the midst of our dying, as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and a privilege to love what Death doesn’t touch. For if disaster and oblivion ha...
All things fall and are built again.
A truck shot past in a whine of spray.
Throw up his hands and say, ‘Who, me? I had nothing to do with it.’
Small, everyday things can lift us out of despair. But nobody can do it for you. You’re the one who has to watch for the open door.
Had I stayed in California I might have ended up in a cult or at the very least practicing some weird dietary restriction.
Afterlife, the space between earth and not-earth, world and not-world, highly polished floors and glass-roof cathedral echoes and the whole anonymous
You had to hand it to her: she was as cool as dammit.
When she went back to the telephone Hely’s breath, on the other end, was ragged and secretive.