February 2012
3 posts
January 2012
7 posts
December 2011
4 posts
November 2011
8 posts
October 2011
7 posts
September 2011
5 posts
We lived in a pocket of Time. It was close, it was warm. Along the dark seam of the river the houses, the barns, the two churches, hid like white crumbs in a fluff of gray willows & elms, till Time made one of his gestures; his nails scratched the shingled roof. Roughly his hand reached in, and tumbled us out. —Elizabeth Bishop, mid- to late 1950s
August 2011
11 posts
Rakish men either bite their lips in impotent confusion at her repartees, or are touched to penitence by her reproofs, which, on appropriate occasions, rise to a lofty strain of rhetoric, indeed, there is a general propensity in her to make speeches, and to rhapsodize at some length when she retires to her bedroom.
-George Eliot
July 2011
5 posts
