There’s nothing like a shovel full of dirt to encourage literacy.
We lived, as usual by ignoring. Ignoring isn’t the same as ignorance, you have to work at it.
If I waited for perfection, I would never write a word.
All this talking, this rather liquid confessing, was something I didn’t think I could ever bring myself to do. It seemed foolhardy to me, like an uncooked egg deciding to to come out of its shell: there would be a risk of spreading out too far, turning into a formless puddle.
There is something powerful in the whispering of obscenities, about those in power. There’s something delightful about it, something naughty, secretive, forbidden, thrilling. It’s like a spell, of sorts. It deflates them, reduces them to the common denominator where they can be dealt.
We are survivors, of each other. We have been shark to one another, but also lifeboat. That counts for something.
Remember,′ she’d tell her staff, ’every customer wants to feel like a princess, and princesses are selfish and overbearing.
Sanity is a valuable possesion; I hoard it the way people once hoarded money. I save it, so I will have enough, when the time comes.
I am not my childhood,′ Snowman says out loud.
Nature is an expert in cost-benefit analysis,′ she says. ‘Although she does her accounting a little differently. As for debts, she always collects in the long run...
I have periods now, like normal girls; I too am among the knowing, I too can sit out volleyball games and go to the nurse’s for aspirin and waddle along the halls with a pad like a flattened rabbit tail wadded between my legs, sopping with liver-colored blood.
Some days I do appreciate things more, eggs, flowers, but then I decide I’m only having an attack of sentimentality, my brain going pastel Technicolor, like a beautiful-sunset greeting cards they used to make so many of in California. High-gloss hearts. The danger is grayout.
In theory I can do almost anything; certainly I have been told how. In practice I do as little as possible. I pretend to myself that I would be quite happy in a hermit’s cave, living on gruel, if someone else would make the gruel. Gruel, like so many other things, is beyond me.
But hatred and viciousness are addictive. You can get high on them. Once you’ve had a little, you start shaking if you don’t get more.
Everything is post these days, as if we’re all just a footnote to something earlier that was real enough to have a name of its own.
I avoid looking down at my body, not so much because it’s shameful or immodest but because I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to look at something that determines me so completely.
Not a hope. I know where I am, and who, and what day it is. These are the tests, and I am sane. Sanity is a valuable possession; I hoard it the way people once hoarded money. I save it, so I will have enough, when the time comes.
As Charles Darwin said,‘The economy shown by Nature in her resources is striking,″ says the Spirit. ‘All wealth comes from Nature. Without it, there wouldn’t be any economics. The primary wealth is food, not money. Therefore anything that concerns the handling of the land also concerns me.
Religious people of any serious kind made her nervous: they were like men in raincoats who might or might not be flashers.
I’ve been prepared for almost anything; except absence, except silence.