And though there was something pathetic about it—taking comfort in her left-behind things like a puppy snuggled in an old coat...
And the farther I walked away, the more upset I got, at the loss of one of the few stable and unchanging docking-points in the world that I'd taken for granted: familiar faces, glad greetings...
And just as music is the space between notes, just as the stars are beautiful because of the space between them, just as the sun strikes raindrops at a certain angle and throws a prism of colour acros...
And just as music is the space between notes, just as the stars are beautiful because of the space between them, just as sun strikes raindrops at a certain angle and throws a prism of color across the...
And isn’t the whole point of things—beautiful things—that they connect you to some larger beauty?
And if beauty is terror, said Julian, then what is desire? We think we have many desires, but in fact we have only one. What is it? To live, said Camilla. To live forever, said Bunny, chin cupped in p...
And how did they drive people mad? They turned up the volume of the inner monologue, magnified qualities already present to great excess, made people so much themselves that they couldn’t stand it.
And as we leave Donne and Walton on the shores of Metahemeralism, we wave a fond farewell to those famous chums of yore.
And always, always, that same toast. Live forever.
And I add my own love to the history of people who have loved beautiful things, and looked out for them, and pulled them from the fire, and sought them when they were lost, and tried to preserve them...
All things fall and are built again.
After all, the appeal to stop being yourself, even for a little while, is very great.
After all, the appeal to stop being yourself, even for a little while, is very great. To escape the cognitive mode of experience, to transcend the accident of one's moment of being.
A wilderness of gilt, gleaming in the slant from the dust-furred windows: gilded cupids, gilded commodes and torchieres, and -- undercutting the old-wood smell -- the reek of turpentine, oil paint, an...
A sunstruck instant that existed now and forever.
A poor Negro has at least the excuse of his birth, Edie said. The poor white has nothing to blame for his station but his own character. Well, of course, that won’t do. That would mean having to assum...
A picture that will never leave me. I suppose at one time in my life I might have had any number of stories, but now there is no other. This is the only story I will ever be able to tell.
A month or two before, I would have been appalled at the idea of any murder at all. But that Sunday afternoon, as I actually stood watching one, it seemed the easiest thing in the world. How quickly h...
With a grief no less sharp for not being intimate with its object.
It was complicated, she wasn't thinking only of herself but me too, since we'd both been through so many of the same things, she and I, and we were an awful lot alike-too much. And because we'd both b...