Sublime

To be a human was to continually dumb the world down into an understandable story that keeps things simple.

William Maxwell says it somewhere in The Folded Leaf: that the teenager gets so brooding in his sexuality and self-sanctity that all he requires of others is their absence.

He tinkered with his draft for a further quarter of an hour, then threaded in new sheets and typed up a fair copy. The crucial lines now read: “You’d be forgiven for thinking me mad—wandering into your house barefoot, or snapping your antique vase. The truth is, I feel rather lightheaded and foolish in your presence, Cee, and I don’t think I can bl

She almost seemed to be an extension of him, and he, of her.

‘Did you take it?’ said James, looking at the children one after the other. Abruptly he seemed remote and stern, and desirable because of this; so Thomas turned away in shame.

paucity

I could see Peter walking steadily up the hill from the house, the bald patch on his head glinting as he moved between patches of shadow and sun. With every step he planted his walking stick in the manner of someone who would not suffer fools gladly, as though he knew this was something people said about him and didn’t shrink from the aspersion. It