She Was An Artist. She Held Opposites

It's Been My Habit Of Mind, Over These Years, To Understand That Every Situation In Which Human Beings Are Involved Can Be Turned On Its Head. Everything Someone Assures Me To Be True Might Not Be. Every Pillar Of Belief The World Rests On May Or May Not Be About To Explode. Most Things Don't Stay The Way They Are Very Long. Knowing This, However, Has Not Made Me Cynical. Cynical Means Believing That Good Isn't Possible; And I Know For A Fact That Good Is. I Simply Take Nothing For Granted And Try To Be Ready For The Change That's Soon To Come.

Life's Passed Along To Us Empty. We Have To Make Up The Happiness Part.

Something Will Be There When The Flood Recedes. We Know That. It Will Be Those People Now Standing In The Water, And On Those Rooftops - Many Black, Many Poor. Homeless. Overlooked. And It Will Be New Orleans - Though Its Memory May Be Shortened, Its Self-gaze And Eccentricity Scoured Out So That What's Left Is A City More Like Other Cities, Less Insular, Less Self-regarding, But Possibly More Self-knowing After Today. A City On Firmer Ground.

I'm An Equal Opportunity Reader - Although I Don't Much Read Plays. And Since I Was Raised A Presbyterian, Pretty Much All Pleasures Are Guilty.

If Sportswriting Teaches You Anything, And There Is Much Truth To It As Well As Plenty Of Lies, It Is That For Your Life To Be Worth Anything You Must Sooner Or Later Face The Possibility Of Terrible, Searing Regret. Though You Must Also Manage To Avoid It Or Your Life Will Be Ruined.