Wind, rain, and snow, plenty of. Midway I began to fear my toes would freeze. Chainset and sprockets started to malfunction just in the middle of nowhere, with heavy snow falling on a beautiful white for once landscape. A shame all these worries didn’t let me fully enjoy the ride. Pretty decent times for all the trouble. I feel increasingly safe on the bike.
When is the right moment for something to happen? Never when it does.
Particularly apply to your son’s social upbringing process.
The Saxon genitive is dying.
To need someone’s love is bad, for both. To love without needing is good, for all.
A woman in her sixties standing well in the middle of a parking lot, guarding it against competing drivers, waiting for her husband to make his driving around the block and park right on the spot,
And an auto repair shop with a wall plastered with calendars of pin-up girls,
Relics of a world that was.
I wonder, is there an end to the talk about how to rinse, cut, sink, brush and comb the curls, perms, braids, buns and ponytails in which my female coworkers passionately engage every time any of them makes the slightest, most unnoticeable to-no-one-except-them modification of her straight, dry, greasy, dyed, iron-curled or whatever scalp they happen to own at the moment? ‘Cos in my office at least it is relentless, incessant, non-stop, formidable.
by Amos Oz. I finished it a few days ago, I liked it, gave it three out of five stars, which is my standard score for unremarkable good books, but I’m finding the book hovering over my head and refusing to go away, which is what happens to me when I happen to read a remarkable good book.
Perhaps it is, with that soft but indelible impression of unavoidable sadness that leaves upon you, about how human life is and cannot help not being sorrow and loss.
To die alone, no one around, no tears, no drama, no notice, not anybody torn by your demise —that’s a good death, in my humble opinion.
I got it fixed.