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Esperanza had informally inherited the house from Salvador Escondido, her husband by common law, who one morning kissed her goodbye at the door, left for work in the fields, and never came back.
By James Carlos BlakeApril 1988March 1988The community stagnates without the impulse of the individual. The impulse dies away without the sympathy of the community.
William James
As I drank my tea, I hoped I wouldn’t remember my dreams tonight. Last night’s dream about Walter confused me — I hadn’t thought of him in years. He had been two lovers before Fletcher, my first serious relationship as a divorced woman. I wondered what had become of him.
By Deborah ShouseFebruary 1988When I came to understand that there are mythic patterns in all of our lives, I knew that all of us, often unbeknownst to ourselves, are engaged in a drama of soul which we were told was reserved for gods, heroes, and saints.
By Deena MetzgerJanuary 1988September 1987Life is short and it hurts. Love is the only drug that works.
John Coit
I stood by the open door, watching my old Olympia sail past me. It hit the grassy strip near the parking lot, the carriage extended like a climber’s broken leg after a fall. . . . I remember the thud; the carriage bell ringing once, with the impact; then ringing again, as if in disbelief.
By Sy SafranskySeptember 1987June 1987History is so indifferently rich that a case for almost any conclusion from it can be made by a selection of instances.
Will Durant
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