Life is but a Weaving” (the Tapestry Poem) “My life is but a weaving Between my God and me. I cannot choose the colors He weaveth steadily. Oft’ times He weaveth sorrow; And I in foolish pride Forget He sees the upper And I the underside. Not �...
Narrator: [introducing Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor] What you will see are the different things that might pass through your mind if you sat in a concert hall listening to this music. At first, you are more or less conscious of the orchestra. ...
Madame D.: Come with me. M. Gustave: To... fucking Lutz? Madame D.: Please! M. Gustave: Give me your hand. You've nothing to fear. You're always anxious before you travel. I admit you appear to be suffering a more acute attack on this occasion, but t...
The Rose: Just what species or, shall we say, genus are you, my dear? Alice: Well, I guess you would call me... genus, humanus... Alice. Daisy: Ever see an alice with a blossom like that? Orchid: Come to think of it, did you ever see an alice? Daisy:...
Donna: You killed my... my... Rocco: Your what? Donna: My... Rocco: Your fuckin' what? Huh? Your what, bitch? Rocco: [puts gun to his own head] I'll shoot myself in the head, you can tell me that cat's name! Go ahead! Your what? Your precious, little...
…food is capable of feeding far more than a rumbling stomach. Food is life; our well-being demands it. Food is art and magic; it evokes emotion and colors memory, and in skilled hands, meals become greater than the sum of their ingredients. Food is...
Mrs. Panabaker is ten years older than God and probably smarter. She stops into the offices every other Thursday to tell my dad what she didn't like about his sermon the previous Sunday. She makes fudge-covered marshmallows at Christmas time and forc...
Some lurid things have been said about me—that I am a racist, a hopeless alcoholic, a closet homosexual and so forth—that I leave to others to decide the truth of. I'd only point out, though, that if true these accusations must also have been tru...
Gabe watched, holding his breath as the figure slowly turned. The body moved in an almost unnatural way as it shifted and crawled slowly on all fours across the floor. When the candlelight at last fell on the figure, Gabe could make out the auburn ha...
You don’t hunt something that you can live with, you idiot. You can’t have a challenge for a lifetime, it’ll drain you out. You’ll be dead before you even know it. Someone you go all those miles for, someone you change your own skin for, some...
A dark shadow rose from the depth of the watercourse. Forced to crawl out of the oceans rolling waves, it struggled against the pull of the undertow. Rising, it moved further up the white sandy beach away from the cold water. The creature collapsed o...
I wake up. Immediately I have to figure out who I am. It’s not just the body—opening my eyes and discovering whether the skin on my arm is light or dark, whether my hair is long or short, whether I’m fat or thin, boy or girl, scarred or smooth....
...the secret of the Great Stories is that they no secrets. The Great Stories are the ones you have heard and want to hear again. The ones you can enter anywhere and inhabit comfortably. They don’t deceive you with thrills and trick endings. They d...
An intense cold swept over them all. Harry felt his own breath catch in his chest. The cold went deeper than his skin. It was inside his chest, it was inside his very heart. . . . Harry’s eyes rolled up into his head. He couldn’t see. He was drow...
Only now, in rhythmic waves, was she struck by her stupidity, her blindness, her , and, above all, her longing, the insult of the power of her longing, and she knew very well that is was these shortcomings that had made her so eager to interweave in ...
I know we're fucked up, all right? I'm impulsive, and hot-tempered, and you get under my skin like no one else. You act like you hate me one minute, and then you need me the next. I never get anything right, and I don't deserve you...but I fucking lo...
When they asked some old Roman philosopher or other how he wanted to die, he said he would open his veins in a warm bath. I thought it would be easy, lying in the tub and seeing the redness flower from my wrists, flush after flush through the clear w...
Whatever is deeply, essentially female--the life in a woman's expression, the feel of her flesh, the shape of her breasts, the transformations after childbirth of her skin--is being reclassified as ugly, and ugliness as disease. These qualities are a...
She stood up and took the book from him, and as he smiled over his shoulder at some other kids, she threw it away and kicked him as hard as she could in the vicinity of the groin. Well, as you might imagine, Ludwig Schmeikl certainly buckled, and on ...
She had a woman’s swagger at twelve-and-a-half. Hair: strawberry-blonde, and I vaguely recall a daisy in the crook of her ear. She was an inch taller than me, two with the ponytail; smooth cheeks and darling brown eyes that marbled in luscious cont...
You think that the world we live in is ordinary. We make noise and static to fill the empty spaces where ghosts live. We let other people grow our food, bleach our clothes. We seal ourselves in, clean the dirt from our skins, eat of animals whose blo...
