What? she said once to herself, and then once aloud, What? She felt a total displacement, like a spinning globe brought to a sudden halt by the light touch of a finger. How did she end up here, like this? How could there have been so much - so many moments, so many people and things, so many razors and pillows, timepieces and subtle coffins - without her being aware? How did her life live itself without her?

The more exposure people have to the realities of factory farming, the more we will see people rejecting it. It's already happening.

August has passed, and yet summer continues by force to grow days. They sprout secretly between the chapters of the year, covertly included between its pages.

I was more alone than if I had been alone.

Everything is the way it is because everything was the way it was

His voice was handsome and broken, like a cobblestone street.

Is there really anyone, besides Rudy Giuliani, who prefers the new Times Square?