I Don't Understand How Any Good Art

The March Of Human Progress Seemed Mainly A Matter Of Getting Over That Initial Shock Of Being Here.

A Breeze Shook Rain Out Of New Leaves Onto Their Hair, But In Their Pursuit Of Eternity They Never Noticed The Chill.

When We Traded Homemaking For Careers, We Were Implicitly Promised Economic Independence And Worldly Influence. But A Devil Of A Bargain It Has Turned Out To Be In Terms Of Daily Life. We Gave Up The Aroma Of Warm Bread Rising, The Measured Pace Of Nurturing Routines, The Creative Task Of Molding Our Families' Tastes And Zest For Life; We Received In Exchange The Minivan And The Lunchable.

Memory Is A Complicated Thing, A Relative To Truth, But Not Its Twin.

I Learned To Write By Reading The Kind Of Books I Wished I'd Written.