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There were 117 psychoanalysts on the Pan Am flight to Vienna and I'd been treated by at least six of them.
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A screaming comes across the sky.
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Men emerge pale from the little printing plant at four sharp, ghosts for an instant,
blinking, until the outdoor light overcomes the look of constant indoor light clinging
to them.
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This is a tale of a meeting of two lonesome, skinny, fairly old white men on a planet
which was dying fast.
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Amoebae leave no fossils.
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Early in the spring of 1750, in the village of Juffure, four days upriver from the coast
of Gambia, West Africa, a manchild was born to Omoro and Binta Kinte.
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This is my favorite book in all the world, though I have never read it.
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To whom it may concern: It is springtime.
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In 1902 Father built a house at the crest of the Broadview Avenue hill in New Rochelle,
New York.
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Mr. Donnelly, the track coach, ended the day's practice early because Henry Fuller's
father came down to the high-school field to tell Henry that they had just got a telegram from
Washington announcing that Henry's brother had been killed in action in Germany.
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On December 8th, 1915, Meggie Cleary had her fourth birthday.
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Commander Victor Henry rode a taxi-cab home from the Navy building on Constitution Avenue, in a
gusty gray March rainstorm that matched his mood.
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When I was seventeen and in full obedience to my heart's most urgent commands,
I stepped far from the pathway of normal life and in a moment's time ruined everything I loved - I loved so deeply, and when the love was interrupted, when the incorporeal body of love shank back in terror and my own body was locked away, it was
hard for others to believe that a life so new could suffer so irrevocably.
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I get the willies when I see closed doors.
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