A story about what changes and what remains the same, in just six words.
All diseases were conquered. Death was an adventure for volunteers.
A widow is sort of a holy figure, while a divorcée is a tawdry one.
“I think he does not care for art; I fancy he has not even read Pushkin.”
A gravely ill man was waiting for me in a village ten miles distant.
The dog glares back at Roger, his eyes on fire, but he doesn’t let her go.
Human language, Winston thought, was not adequate for spiritual union.
There was no sense in brushing off or any other civilized thing.
I was enraged at being alone on the outside of all that love and lust.
The peanut seller tore sheets out of paperback books to make the cones.
The distant past returned—what part of it, he could not decide.
The prisoners were ten ragged scarecrows wearing prison suits.
Certainly the ushers who pass the baskets know me as a miser.
“We’d be naive,” Crump went on, “not to assume that people are vile.”
The preacher looked me in the eye. He laid his hand on my chest.
Frank kept his face blank as he read the orders: Report to Berlin.
Lebanon’s dreams of a homeland were fading with every rocket launch.
They went to pray for the dead. It was important to shed some tears.
Felicia knew why he was there. He was waiting. Waiting for her.
“We see you tryin’ to hide. Ain’t no use tryin’ to hide in God’s House.”
“Maybe you should leave the rumba to those who know how to do it.”
He ended every year in this manner, writing and dreaming.
We are in his car. “Bell, I’m starving. Want to go for a burger or pizza?”
I panic. Pizza. 285 calories per slice. Burgers. Harder to estimate.
Chess was a humiliation that hung over him like a leper’s bell.
“I’d like to talk to C about her personal statement,” Blattman said.
I can see on him how things are changing for and against us.
Lorenzo and me, we’d squat our own building. It was the new frontier.
My daughter’s favorite game is Holocaust. She’s quite inventive.
Paul King was shiftless and drunken; ugly tales were told of him.
For all the stories they’d concocted, the real one electrified them.