There were spits of rain in the wind.
The small sands in that waste was all there was for the wind to move and it moved with a constant migratory seething upon itself. As if in its ultimate granulation the world sought some stay against its own eternal wheeling.
As if the darkness had a soul itself that was the sun’s assassin hurrying to the west as once men did believe, as they may believe again“A track in the dirt. A fallen bauble. Not some cause. I can tell you that. Not some cause. Causes only multiply themselves. They lead to chaos.”
“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.”
“There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired.”
“You don't write because you want to say something, you write because you have something to say.”
“I like people and I like them to like me, but I wear my heart where God put it, on the inside. ”
“Let us learn to show our friendship for a man when he is alive and not after he is dead.”
“Before I go on with this short history, let me make a general observation– the test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function.One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless and yet be determined to make them otherwise. This philosophy fitted on to my early adult life, when I saw the improbable, the implausible, often the "impossible," come true.”
How the mind wanders, even on the most concentrated of occasions.
But then, at what moment, of all our moments, is life not utterly, utterly changed, until the final, most momentous change of all?
There is no finishing a work, only the abandoning of it.
"There are moments when the past has a force so strong it seems one might be annihilated by it."
“What a little vessel of sadness we are, sailing in this muffled silence through the autumn dark.”
As incertitude initiates invention, myths regarding the unknown inevitability begin to sprout.
The younger population of the city whose minds were enlightened to imaginative possibilities believed that the otter was magical, and arrived in the pond of its own magical accord. The adult population that had long lost their fictive mindset sensibly conjectured that the otter had been disposed due to budget cuts from a nearby zoo. However, regardless of the different superstitions, it was common wonder that the small otter managed to survive the conditions of the pond.
As to how the otter appeared in the pond in the first place, it remained a mystery in the village, encouragingly manifested by the many myths it motivated. Although many yearned to know the truth, whatever it may have been was soon abdicated – for the skeptics and suspicion aroused by the curiosity of the matter did naught but spawn superstition, which later substituted as a publicly persuasive, but fabricated verisimilitude.