Sublime

I suppose one of the reasons we’re all able to continue to exist for our allotted span in this green and blue vale of tears is that there is always, however remote it might seem, the possibility of change.

There is nothing dramatic in the world, nothing pathetic, except in human relations. The day after I landed I might get emotional, might dress up my adventure by imagining that I who was alive and walking on earth was living through the hell of a cyclone. But that would be cheating, for the man who fought tooth and nail against that cyclone had not

her sorrow remained lodged in her body for the next fifty-six years.

Here at last was Motherhood, and though it was not for all of them personally, it might—if the power was inherited—found here a new race.

She wrote of going to an alumnae counselor who told her, “Go back to your kitchen and stay there and make jam!”

power of mother-love,

The door opened and a woman in her late forties came out. She had permed hair, a linen jacket, printed skirt; her eyes were puffy and swollen from crying. So, it’s one of these offices, I thought. An office without a secondary exit. I liked secondary exits. The suffering needn’t meet the suffering in the anteroom of suffering.

"Sexless, epicene, undeveloped neuters!" he went on bitterly.