Children talk themselves out of their convictions as they grow up and become distracted by their huge selfish selves. All the literature is consistent on this point. Children begin to think they've im...
But the pinkness and whiteness of underskirts and camisoles, the frilliness of foundation garments, the rustle about the bustle and the fuss about the bust.
But his face had that hollow look, as if there was something gone... you know that look. The inward focus. Distantly attentive to the home you're missing, or the someone you're missing. That look that...
But I must pay attention now, she thinks, because what other choice is there? Maybe when I die my soul will fly to meet God, but when that time comes I won't have the use of clever hands, nor the burd...
Behind every aspect of the world is another aspect of the world.
Begging your pardon, sir....One population can't make peace with another by force.
Beauty is no end in itself, but if it makes our lives less miserable so that we might be more kind—well, then, let’s have beauty, painted on our porcelain, hanging on our walls, ringing through our st...
As pessoas dizem «meu Deus!» a toda a hora, mas habitualmente querem dizer «ora bolas».
As Solomon said in the Old Book, if two women squabble over which of them is the mother of a certain infant, the way to solve the problem is to cut the baby in half and share the baby in parts. That’s...
And so the feast-day of the nativity of the Christ Child approached with its usual panic, uproar, and greed.
And it's a cold place the world, especially when warmed by arsen.
And girls need cold anger. They need the cold simmer, the ceaseless grudge, the talent to avoid forgiveness, the side stepping of compromise. They need to know when they say something that they will n...
All our lives are activity without meaning; we burrow ratlike into life and we squirm ratlike through it and ratlike we are flung into our graves at the end. Now and then, why shouldn’t we hear a voic...
Alice less winsome than weird, and treated Lydia like a Cerberus,
After all, what kind of a life is it that is not pestered by insects? A perfect one, and since life is not perfect, this cannot be life.
Ada. Even if you run away from me like some I know, I’m still Ada.
A plot, whether abandoned by a reader or pursued rapturously, remains itself, and gets where it is headed even if nobody is looking.
A little bird told me, said the Lion.
A fellow needed two names, one for affection and the other for civic duty.
You'll understand when you're older. Or anyway not understanding will become second nature, and it won't matter.