Humans are aware of very little, it seems to me, the artificial brainy side of life, the worries and bills and the mechanisms of jobs, the doltish psychologies we've placed over our lives like a stencil. A dog keeps his life simple and unadorned.
Today we are even manipulating the DNA that makes us possible in the first place—a case of evolution evolving new ways to evolve.
I met your father last week. Are you still interested in hearing how he is doing? No. It is very probable that you will be responsible for his death. It is virtually certain that he is responsible for my life. We are even.
Sydney sighed and stood up, smoothing her rumpled clothes with dismay. 'I need a coffee shop or something.' 'I think I saw one in a cave down the road,' I said. That almost got a smile from her.
But once in a while . . . I don't know. I feel so close, Rose. So close to the edge. Like if I allow myself one small misstep, I'll plunge away and never come back. It's like I'll lose myself.
Her voice was as soft and sexy as ever. Those wide-set blue eyes every bit as distrustful as they’d been during his last encounter with her, which meant that chip on her shoulder, the one he’d tried so desperately to dislodge, remained firmly in ...
Making Cocoa For Kingsley Amis It was a dream I had last week And some kind of record seemed vital. I knew it wouldn't be much of a poem But I love the title.
It's okay,” he said. “We're together.” He didn't say , or . After all they'd been through over the last year, he knew that the most important thing was that they were together. She loved him for saying that.
Touched by her fingers, the two surviving chocolate people copulate desperately, losing themselves in a melting frenzy of lust, spending the last of their brief borrowed lives in a spasm of raspberry cream and fear.
I thought, Hey, maybe these people shouldn’t be making up holidays to drink more. Maybe if they drank less they might be able to title their newspaper articles more specifically. For example, I would title this last article “Drunk Driver Hits Dru...
Having had virtually no contact with the outside world for the last few weeks, Evan had temporarily forgotten the social norms governing shopping conduct or approaching celebrities in public.
I have not yet spoken my last word about women. I believe that if a woman succeeds in withdrawing from the mass, or rather raising herself from above the mass, she grows ceaselessly and more than a man.
World peace, like community peace, does not require that each man love his neighbor—it requires only that they live together in mutual tolerance, submitting their disputes to a just and peaceful settlement. And history teaches us that enmities betw...
When I’m sad, I think about happier times. Times like 3:33, 12:34, and 3:21. This last one usually spurs me into action and helps stop me from just stopping.
Sorry for your loss' Gordan said.His extended hand was immediately rejected with an if-looks-could-kill stare from Shelly's father, who was, as of yet, oblivious to the fact that we had stolen the last of his daughter. 'Right. Well,fuck you too.
A pair of starfighters. Jedi starfighters. Only two. Two is enough. Two is enough because the adults are wrong, and their younglings are right. Though this is the end of the age of heroes, it has saved its best for last.
When was the last time someone read aloud to you? Probably when you were a child, and if you think back, you'll remember how safe you felt, tucked under the covers, or curled in someone's arms, as a story was spun around you like a web.
The people who had turned their heads turned them again as the service proceeded; and at last observing her they whispered to each other. She knew what their whispers were about, grew sick at heart, and felt that she could come to church no more.
Dry fingers of decaying branches protruded upward, above what was left of the canopy of green. They rattled like skeletal bones, grasping for a final breath from the last silvery clouds of evening that slowly drifted by.
In the presence of real tragedy you feel neither pain nor joy nor hatred, only a sense of enormous space and time suspended, the great doors open to black eternity, the rising across the terrible field of that last enormous, unanswerable question.
She called and said she had to cancel tomorrow. “Cancel tomorrow!” I shrieked. “Does that make today the last day, or at midnight tonight will the world just skip over to the day after tomorrow? But wouldn’t that still make it tomorrow?
