By mid-morning a rain as fine as silk spills was weaving over the lake.
it was a sly trick of God's to give a man work to do - it kept him from asking questions that God couldn't answer.
The lush green of the fields became a rich gold that swayed sturdily under the wind and fell at last before the hands of the reapers.
Time passed so much more slowly than space.
A sickness ... defines margins, crystallizes the shape of things.
A false vision was better than none.