And my problem was that I always tried to go in everyone's way but my own.

If only all the contradictory voices shouting in my head would calm down and sing a song in unison, whatever it was I wouldn't care as long as they sang without dissonance.

America is woven of many strands. I would recognize them and let it so remain.

Injustice wears ever the same harsh face wherever it shows itself.

I suddenly recall the arpeggios of laughter lilting across the tender, springtime grass-gay-welling, far-floating, fluent, spontaneous, a bell-like feminine fluting, then suppressed; as though snuffed swiftly and irrevocably beneath the quiet solemnity of the vespered air now vibrant with somber chapel bells.

The clock ticked with empty urgency, as though trying to catch up with the time. In the street a siren howled.

Perhaps to lose a sense of where you are implies the danger of losing a sense of who you are.