On the phone, at a gas station, in our dreams
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Bringing someone back to life, going through fertility treatments, spending more time with family
Things I didn’t get to last week: answering the mail, giving up coffee, saving the planet.
Why 300,000 varieties of beetles? The great English geneticist J.B.S. Haldane was once cornered by a distinguished theologian who asked him what inferences one could draw, from a study of the created world, as to the nature of its Creator. Haldane answered, “An inordinate fondness for beetles.” David Quammen
Why 300,000 varieties of beetles? The great English geneticist J.B.S. Haldane was once cornered by a distinguished theologian who asked him what inferences one could draw, from a study of the created world, as to the nature of its Creator. Haldane answered, “An inordinate fondness for beetles.”
David Quammen
There is something that loves you in the world. The voice that speaks to you within, in the worst despair, is not different from the voice that called the world into being.
At fifty-five, I look back on a life so complicated that had I set out to make things hard for myself, I couldn’t have done a better job.
Then he let go of me, and the meaning of the poem was clear. This man had finally brought me inside of it. Both of us had somehow been given what we came for. On the trail down to the bridge I broke out in goose flesh.
“Here we are in Martinique,” the man said. He was standing at the window with his hands in his hip pockets, looking out at the green lawn and the deep woods beyond.
He came in on a royal blue 1928 Studebaker, the engine rattling, leaving a dusty cloud billowing into the desert air.
I washed the dishes and the ashtrays and the silverware and the mugs, then rinsed them off and set them on the counter on paper towels to dry.