One of the gravestones in the cemetery near the earliest church has an anchor on it and an hourglass, and the words In Hope.In Hope. Why did they put that above a dead person? Was it the corpse hoping...
On my Tree of Paradise, I intend to put a border of snakes entwined; they will look like vines or just a cable pattern to others, as I will make the eyes very small, but they will be snakes to me; as...
Now she imagines him dreaming. She imagines him dreaming of her, as she is dreaming of him. Through a sky the color of wet slate they fly towards each other on dark invisible wings, searching, searchi...
Now maybe I wouldn't do it, but I was a child then, said Oryx more softly. Why are you so angry? I don't buy it, said Jimmy. Where was her rage, how far down was it buried, what did he have to do to d...
Now I wanted to be acknowledged, but I feared it.
No mother is ever, completely, a child's idea of what a mother should be, and I suppose it works the other way around as well.
Nature is to zoos as God is to churches.
My hands are out of practice, my eyes disused. Most of what I do is drawing, because the preparation of the surface, the laborious underpainting and detailed concentration... are too much for me. I ha...
Looking back on his life, he sees himself spread out on the earth like a giant covered in tiny threads that have held him down. Tiny threads of petty cares and small concerns, and fears he took seriou...
Jon smashes things, and glues the shards into place in the pattern of breakage. I can see the appeal.
It is the strict adherence to daily routine that tends towards the maintenance of good morale and the preservation of sanity, he says out loud.
It is not only the body that travels, Adam One used to say, it is also the Soul. And the end of one journey is the beginning of another.
Is it real? No, it is not real. What is this not real? Not real can tell us about real.
Ill winds blow far and find a ready welcome.
I wish I was ignorant, so I didn't know how ignorant I am
I want, I don’t want.How can one live with such a heart?
I really don't know what men used to say. I had only their words for it.
I know why there is no glass, in front of the watercolor picture of blue irises, and why the window opens only partly and why the glass in it is shatter-proof. It isn't running away they're afraid of....
I don’t even close my eyes. Out there or inside my head, it’s an equal darkness. Or light.
I avoid looking down at my body, not so much because it's shameful or immodest but because I don't want to see it. I don't want to look at something that determines me so completely. I