There Is Always Room For At Least

Cynicism Is Easy. An Optimist Is A Braver Cynic.

What Corrigan Wanted Was A Fully Believable God, One You Could Find In The Grime Of The Everyday... He Consoled Himself With The Fact That, In The Real World, When He Looked Closely Into The Darkness He Might Find The Presence Of A Light, Damaged And Bruised, But A Little Light All The Same. He Wanted, Quite Simply, For The World To Be A Better Place, And He Was In The Habit Of Hoping For It.

He Told Me Once That There Was No Better Faith Than A Wounded Faith And Sometimes I Wonder If That Is What He Was Doing All Along --trying To Wound His Faith In Order To Test It--and I Was Just Another Stone In The Way Of His God.

The Luxury Of Age Was The Giving Up Of Vanity.

One Of Those Out-of-the-ordinary Days That Made Sense Of The Slew Of Ordinary Days. New York Had A Way Of Doing That. Every Now And Then The City Shook Its Soul Out. It Assailed You With An Image, Or A Day, Or A Crime, Or A Terror, Or A Beauty So Difficult To Wrap Your Mind Around That You Had To Shake Your Head In Disbelief.