The miller, poor, foolish, doting father that he is, never expected his daughter to be locked into a room full of straw and commanded to spin it all into gold by morning, any more than most fathers expect their daughters to be unsought after by boys, or rejected by colleges, or abused by the men they eventually marry. Such notions rarely appear on the spectrum of paternal possibility.
The miller, poor, foolish, doting father that he is, never expected his daughter to be locked into a room full of straw and commanded to spin it all into gold by morning, any more than most fathers expect their daughters to be unsought after by boys, or rejected by colleges, or abused by the men they eventually marry. Such notions rarely appear on the spectrum of paternal possibility.
Sally was trying her power out on him; she shed tears of self-pity, until he put his arms around her and kissed her.
Sally was trying her power out on him; she shed tears of self-pity, until he put his arms around her and kissed her.
Then Ann, with her drunken special insight, said that Blaise wasn’t really what he seemed. He wasn’t actually very easy. He’d seen right through them and he didn’t like them very much.
Then Ann, with her drunken special insight, said that Blaise wasn’t really what he seemed. He wasn’t actually very easy. He’d seen right through them and he didn’t like them very much.
You should always remember your dreams, Insu-ya. Dreams are your real life. It’s a shame if you don’t remember it.
You should always remember your dreams, Insu-ya. Dreams are your real life. It’s a shame if you don’t remember it.
During the day, while my sons are in school, I can’t stop reading about the disaster of the world, the glaciers dying like living creatures, the great Pacific trash gyre, the hundreds of unrecorded deaths of species, millennia snuffed out as if they were not precious. I read and savagely mourn, as if reading could somehow sate this hunger for grief, instead of what it does, which is fuel it.
During the day, while my sons are in school, I can’t stop reading about the disaster of the world, the glaciers dying like living creatures, the great Pacific trash gyre, the hundreds of unrecorded deaths of species, millennia snuffed out as if they were not precious. I read and savagely mourn, as if reading could somehow sate this hunger for grief, instead of what it does, which is fuel it.