After lunch I went up to my room, read a while, and went to sleep. When I woke it was half past four. I found my swimming-suit, wrapped it with a comb in a towel, and went down-stairs and walked up the street to the Concha. The tide was about half-way out. The beach was […]
Hemingway and Life for the Wounded Read More »
I’ll probably have to kill my dog soon. There is no philosophical treatise to talk or think about at this point beyond the task itself. I am here to witness her pain and take care of business. This is my job for having her as a domesticated pet. This is what is going to happen.
One thing all the founding fathers have in common is that they are dead. We are the ones who are alive, we are the ones who must make the laws and constitution work, juggling many variables the founders could never have foreseen. They created an America in which black people were deemed to be property
We have to move on. . . . Read More »
For myself, I cannot live without my art. But I have never placed it above everything. If, on the other hand, I need it, it is because it cannot be separated from my fellow men, and it allows me to live, such as I am, on one level with them. It is a means of stirring the
Happy Birthday, Albert Camus Read More »