We Are Homesick Most For The Places

For You See, When Us People Who Know Run Into Each Other That's An Event. It Almost Never Happens. Sometimes We Meet Each Other And Neither Guesses That The Other Is One Who Knows. That's A Bad Thing. It's Happened To Me A Lot Of Times. But You See There Are So Few Of Us.

Some Men Are Heroes By Nature In That They Will Give All That Is In Them Without Regard To The Effort Or To The Personal Returns.

Doctors, By God; Washing Their Hands, Looking Out Windows, Fiddling With Dreadful Things While You Are Stretched Out On A Table Or Half Undressed On A Chair.

Now Hoppin'-john Was F. Jasmine's Very Favorite Food. She Had Always Warned Them To Wave A Plate Of Rice And Peas Before Her Nose When She Was In Her Coffin, To Make Certain There Was No Mistake; For If A Breath Of Life Was Left In Her, She Would Sit Up And Eat, But If She Smelled The Hopping-john, And Did Not Stir, Then They Could Just Nail Down The Coffin And Be Certain She Was Truly Dead.

We Are Torn Between Nostalgia For The Familiar And An Urge For The Foreign And Strange. As Often As Not, We Are Homesick Most For The Places We Have Never Known.