When science drove the gods out of nature, they took refuge in poetry and the porticos of civic buildings.
Technique bridges among ideas, and sometimes generates them.
Writers tell more truths, and more lies, than most.
Victorian sorrow: the stars are winking in the sky, but not for us.
The ravaged face in the mirror hides the enchanting youth that is the real me.
My young friend supposes his ingenuousness is merely a ruse.