He needed that time edged with boredom in which fantasy could flourish.
Everyone nodded, nobody agreed.
Past a certain age, men froze into place; they tended to believe that, even in adversity, they were somehow at one with their fates. They were who they thought they were.
The cost of oblivious daydreaming was always this moment of return.
Muslim majority countries plagued by religious puritanism, by sexual sickness, by smothered invention.
And foe-of-convenience, the United States, barely the hope of the world, guilty of torture, helpless before its sacred text conceived in an age of powdered wigs, a constitution as unchallengeable as the Koran.
I’ve never outgrown that feeling of mild pride, of acceptance, when children take your hand.
The United States-It’s nervous poplulation obese, fearful, tormented by inarticulate anger, contemptuous of governance, murdering sleep with every new handgun.
Words, as I’m beginning to appreciate, can make things true.
Childhoods shine through adult skin, helpfully or not.
What people queued the entire weekend for became, six months later, as interesting as the socks on their feet. What happened to the cognition-enhancing helmets, the speaking fridges with a sense of smell? Gone the way of the mouse pad, the Filofax, the electric carving knife, the fondue set. The future kept arriving. Our bright new toys began to rust before we could get them home, and life went on much as before.
A blend of desolation and outrage. Or longing and fury. She wanted him back, she never wanted to see him again.
Self-aware existence. I’m lucky to have it, but there are times when I think that I ought to know better what to do with it. What it’s for. Sometimes it seems entirely pointless.
Chi prende in mano un violino, o qualunque altro strumento, compie un gesto di speranza che comporta il desiderio di un futuro.
Consent has rough edges.
Her purity of spirit would never be in doubt, though she moved through a blemished world.
We’ll always be troubled by how things are – that’s how it stands with the difficult gift of consciousness.
I saw the same joy, the same uncontrollable smile in the faces of a Nigerian earth mama, a thin-lipped Scottish granny and a pale correct Japanese businessman as they wheeled their trolleys in and recognised a figure in the expectant crowd. Observing human variety can give pleasure, but so too can human sameness.
How could anyone presume to know the world through the eyes of an insect? Not everything had a cause, and pretending otherwise was an interference in the workings of the world that was futile, and could even lead to grief. Some things were simply so.
She would have called after him but for the dread of being ignored.