We use cookies to improve our services and remember your choices for future visits. For more information see our Privacy Policy and Terms of Use.
We use cookies to improve our services and remember your choices for future visits. For more information see our Privacy Policy and Terms of Use.
Seeing the moon from the desert, from the Ile de la Cite in Paris, from a starry camping night
By Our ReadersJuly 1984May 1. My vanity was injured because my self-revelation, my skilled dissection of my outsize half of the relationship, didn’t beguile him.
By Stephanie MillsFebruary 1984December 1983Trouble is a part of your life, and if you don’t share it, you don’t give the person who loves you enough chance to love you enough.
Dinah Shore
Equilateral triangles; excruciating insights; ecstasies and traumas
By Our ReadersDecember 1983October 1983A human being is a part of the whole called by us “universe,” a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings, as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.
Albert Einstein
My hands begin to hurt from the constant pressure of the crutches. Jaggers of pain run up my arm. It feels as if I have bared every nerve in my arms. I am sweating, and the sweat runs down my forehead, into my eyes. I have to stop each few steps to wipe the sweat from my eyes. Then I put sore hands on crutches again, and walk a few more steps, then I must stop to wipe my eyes again.
By Lorenzo W. MilamAugust 1983The inexorable pride that haunts me, the fever of gluttony, and lust that would forego God for an ecstatic moment are the gas, grease, and oil that lubricate this Hellbent vehicle. They are tears the sperm that race up the tube; they excite and terrify but they will never, never save me.
By David KoteenAugust 1983Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
Subscribe Today