And if my heart be scarred and burned, The safer, I, for all I learned.
They turned a distracted gaze on the world, wide-eyed, somehow, and questioning.
Photography is all about secrets. The secrets we all have and will never tell.
You can't spend the rest of your life tiptoeing around to try and avert disaster. It won't work. You'll just end up missing the life you have.
It wasn't right. He knew that, but it was like falling: once you started you couldn't stop until something stopped you.
Lately, the world felt fragile, like a blown egg, as if it might shatter beneath a careless touch.
. . . and the distance between them, millimeters only, the space of a breath, opened up and deepened, became a cavern at whose edge he stood.
Writers who get written about become self-conscious. They develop a regrettable habit of looking at themselves through the eyes of other people. They are no longer alone, they have an investment in critical praise, and they think they must protect it. This leads to a diffusion of effort. The writer watches himself as he works. He grows more subtle and he pays for it by loss of organic dash.
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise. I rise. I rise.
Astride a horse I am not, nor camel-like carry a load, Subjects I have none, nor follow any sultan's code; I worry not for what exists, nor fret for what is lost, I breathe with extreme ease, and live at very little cost.
I may be a little old-fashioned, but I actually believe that if you live and work in our house and you work on our payroll and you take oaths, then integrity matters in elections.