Little FlyThy summers play,My thoughtless handHas brush'd away.Am not IA fly like thee?Or art not thouA man like me?For I dance And drink & sing: Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing. If thought i...
He put the car in gear and went, feeling again how easy it had been to slip through an unexpected fissure in what he had considered a solid life- how easy it was to get over onto the dark side, to sai...
When night comes on in a room lit by kerosene, any flicker of the flame can give the sense that darkness is about to triumph.
We are fragile creatures, and it is from this weakness, not despite it, that we discover the possibility of true joy.
Years vanish. Months collapse. Time is like a tall building made of playing cards. It seems orderly until a strong gust of wind comes along and blows the whole thing skyward. Imagine it: an entire dec...
