Cycle trails will abound in Utopia.

The teacher, whether mother, priest, or schoolmaster, is the real maker of history.

Cycle trails will abound in Utopia.

[A novel by Henry James] is like a church lit but without a congregation to distract you, with every light and line focused on the high altar. And on the altar, very reverently place, intensely there, is a dead kitten, an egg-shell, a bit of string.

Are we all bubbles blown by a baby?

Every time I see an adult on a bicycle, I no longer despair for the future of the human race.

It is when suffering finds a voice and sets our nerves quivering that this pity comes troubling us.