It is not a bad thing that children should occasionally, and politely, put parents in their place.

At the top of the iron staircase leading to the stage, the good, dry, dusty warmth wraps me round like a comfortable dirty cloak.

A few days later, I found my mother beneath the tree, motionless with excitement, her head turned toward the heavens in which she would allow human religions no place.

It is not a bad thing that children should occasionally, and politely, put parents in their place.

Perhaps the only misplaced curiosity is that which persists in trying to find out here, on this side of death, what lies beyond the grave.

beautiful December grapes, blue as plums, every grape a little skinful of sweet, tasteless water

I want nothing from love, in short, but love.