I Didn't Write Anything Until I Was

History Unravels; Circumstances, Following Their Natural Inclination, Prefer To Remain Ravelled.

If People Don't Read, That's Their Choice; A Lifelong Book Habit May Itself Be Some Sort Of Affliction.

Grief-stricken. Stricken Is Right; It Is As Though You Had Been Felled. Knocked To The Ground; Pitched Out Of Life And Into Something Else.

It Seems To Me That Everything That Happens To Us Is A Disconcerting Mix Of Choice And Contingency.

I Can Remember The Lush Spring Excitement Of Language In Childhood. Sitting In Church, Rolling It Around My Mouth Like Marbles--tabernacle And Pharisee And Parable, Tresspass And Babylon And Covenant.