Here Was A Torture That Greek Inventors

I Look At My Father, Who Was In Many Ways An Unhappy Person, But Who, Not Long Before He Got Sick, Said That The Greatest Source Of Satisfaction In His Life Had Been Going To Work In The Company Of Other Workers.

She Wondered: How Could People Respond To These Images If Images Didn't Secretly Enjoy The Same Status As Real Things? Not That Images Were So Powerful, But That The World Was So Weak. It Could Be Read, Certainly, In Its Weakness, As On Days When The Sun Baked Fallen Apples In Orchards And The Valley Smelled Like Cider, And Cold Nights When Jordan Had Driven Chadds Ford For Dinner And The Tires Of Her Chevrolet Had Crunched On The Gravel Driveway; But The World Was Fungible Only As Images. Nothing Got Inside The Head Without Becoming Pictures.

What You Discovered About Yourself In Raising Children Wasn't Always Agreeable Or Attractive.

Good Novels Are Produced By People Who Voluntarily Isolate Themselves And Go Deep, And Report From The Depths On What They Find.

It Seems To Me Self-evident That If You Have A Life, Things Happen In It, And Certain Things Do Change; Certain Things End. People You Know Die.