Desiring truth, awaiting it,
laboriously distilling
a few words,
for ever desiring-(a cry starts to the left,
another to the right.
Wheels strike divergently. Omnibuses
conglomerate in conflict)-for ever desiring.
~Virginia Woolf

Like a bird on the wire ( Read more... )

I distrust the perpetually busy; always have. The frenetic ones, spinning in tight little circles like poisoned rats. The slower ones, grinding away their fourscore and ten in righteousness and pain. They are the soul-eaters ( Read more... )

"I'm a sick man...a mean man. There's nothing attractive about me. I think there's something wrong with my liver....I've been living like this for a long time, twenty years or so. I'm forty now. I used to be in government service, but I'm not any more. I was a nasty official. I was rude and enjoyed being rude....When petitioners came up to my desk ( Read more... )

My dear, dear Mollie ( Read more... )

Socially, we fly from the idea of an individual to the professional describers, the classifiers, the men with the categories and a quick ear for the latest subdivision, who flourish among us like priests. Individually, we do what we can to describe and classify ourselves and to assure ourselves that from the outside at least we do have a definite ( Read more... )

To you I'm an atheist; to God, I'm the Loyal Opposition ( Read more... )

It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York ( Read more... )

February is a despicable month. A pretense of conviviality hangs in the air--one gazes gleefully out the window in awe of the sparkling, sun-gilt landscape, seeing invitation enough in sunlight's return. But spring's cameo is a coquettish one, frost enlaces the foliage and outside it is still mostly as sterile and desolate and cold as ever. ( Read more... )

pull the ripchord, the ship has lost its sail,
your mama's got a new man, your daddy always fails,
and you're eating again at them cause nobody loves you...