Sublime

"and you must be desperately homesick."

‘She’s a bit of a coquette, you know.’ ‘Don’t say that – don’t say that!’ Mrs Marden murmured. ‘The nicest girls always are – just a little,’ I was magnanimous enough to plead. ‘Then why are they always punished?’ The intensity of the question startled me – it had come out in a vivid flash. Therefore I had to think a moment before I put to her: ‘Wh

they ventriloquized the dead man, addressing the passer-by with some clipped meditation on mortality.

sex distinctions?"

At the Dinky Donut, outside town, Bob Pardee sat quietly as the family ate and talked. The soft pink golfer’s face had begun to droop from his skull. His flesh seemed generally to sag, giving him the hang-dog look of someone under strict orders to lose weight. His hair was expensively cut and layered, a certain amount of color combed in, a certain

anthropomorphically.”

The story we are told of women is not this one. The story of women is the story of love, of foundering into another. A slight deviation: longing to founder and being unable to. Being left alone in the foundering, and taking things into one’s own hands: rat poison, the wheels of a Russian train. Even the smoother and gentler story is still just a mo

When by mutation a new rose is born in a garden, all the gardeners rejoice. They isolate the rose, tend it, foster it. But there is no gardener for men. This little Mozart will be shaped like the rest by the common stamping machine. This little Mozart will love shoddy music in the stench of night dives. This little Mozart is condemned.

eyes—it was like a creature about to spring.