On-yez, where are you from, dear?' asked a black-slacked, frosted-haired woman whose skin was papery and melanomic with suntan. 'Originally.' She eyed Agnes's outfit as if it might be what in fact it...
One should never turn one's back on a vivid imagination.
Pek çok eski Fransız tüccarı doğayla, özellikle de suyla öyle düşmanca ilişkiler içindeymiş ki isim verdikleri her şey kasvetlerini taşıyordu: bütün hoş tatil yerlerinin adları Fransızcadan Ölümün Kap...
Perhaps everyone had their own way of preparing to die. Life got you ready.
Perhaps she drives men away. Perhaps, without even being able to help herself, she just puts men into her ill-tempered car and drives them off: to quarries, dumps, small anonymous bodies of water.
Sarah'nın gülmek yerine, Komik, ya da gülümsemek yerine, İlginç, ya da Aptal zırva geri zekâlının tekisin, demek yerine, Şey, sanırım bu ondan biraz daha karmaşık, diyen kadınlardan olmasından korktum...
She gave him books of poetry: Wordsworth, Whitman, all the W's. When she'd ask him how he liked them, he would say, Fine. I'm on page… and then he would tell her what page he was on and how many pages...
She had bought several plain pine chests to use as love seats or boot boxes, but they came to look to her more and more like children's coffins, so she returned them.
There were about thirty-five people, all of them middle-aged, with the academic’s strange mixed expression of merriment and weariness. A cross between flirtation and a fender bender, Martin had descri...
She hadn’t been given the proper tools to make a real life with, she decided, that was it. She’d been given a can of gravy and a hairbrush and told, There you go. She’d stood there for years, blinking...
They looked like frogs who’d been kissed and kissed roughly, yet stayed frogs.
She liked her pieces to have something from every time of day in them — she didn't trust things written in the morning only — so she reread and rewrote painstakingly. No part of a day — its moods, its...
She should stay here with him, unorphan him with love's unorphaning, live wise and simple in a world monstrous enough for years of whores and death, and poems of whores and death, so monstrous how cou...
She tried to smile warmly but wondered if she looked fakey, something Ariel sometimes accused her of. Ariel had said. It's like you're trying to be happy out of a book. Millie owned several books abou...
She was wearing an old summer dress as a nightgown, but in the mornings it could work as a dress again, if you just tossed a cardigan over it and put on shoes. In this risky manner, she knew, insanity...
She would turn from him in bed, her hands under the pillow, the digital clock peeling back the old skins of numbers.
Biri sizden ayrıldığında tüm çekiciliğinizi kaybedersiniz ve karşı tarafın yeni bir başlangıç yaparken size dair beslediği tüm kuşkular böylece kanıtlanmış olur.
But I keep thinking love should be like a tree. You look at trees and they've got bumps and scars from tumors, infestations, what have you, but they're still growing. Despite the bumps and bruises, th...
But family life sometimes had a vortex, like weather. It could be like a tornado in a quiet zigzag: get close enough and you might see within it a spinning eighteen-wheeler and a woman.
Ever since Albert was denied promotion to full-professor rank, his articles on Flannery O'Connor (A Good Man Really Is Hard to Find, Everything That Rises Must Indeed Converge, and The Totemic South:...
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