See the child. He is pale and thin, he wears a thin and ragged linen shirt. He stokes the scullery fire.

They came upon themselves in a mirror and he almost raised the pistol. It's us, Papa, the boy whispered. It's us.

Can you do it? When the time comes? When the time comes there will be no time. Now is the time. Curse God and die.

The wind sounded of Mother Earth's forsaken and abandoned cries.

The rain falls upon the just And also on the unjust fellas But mostly it falls upon the just Cause the unjust have the just's umbrellas

Teaching writing is a hustle.

A man seeks his own destiny and no other, said the judge. Wil or nill. Any man who could discover his own fate and elect therefore some opposite course could only come at last to that selfsame reckoning at the same appointed time, for each man's destiny is as large as the world he inhabits and contains within it all opposites as well. The desert upon which so many have been broken is vast and calls for largeness of heart but it is also ultimately empty. It is hard, it is barren. Its very nature is stone.