Archive for April 2014
From “As Cubs Wander Into the Bronx, They’ve Never Been Worse,” in this morning’s Times:
… they last won a pennant in 1945, when the able-bodied men were still off at war.
(Apologies to my dear friend and dear Cubs fan Mark Caro.)
In which one of my favorite singers covers one of my favorite songwriters. Beautiful beyond description (or at least beyond my ability to describe). Peace to them both.
Regularly on this gradually-coming-back-to-life blog, weekly I hope, I’ll share the occasional sentence that thrills me. I’ll present them without comment; it’s for each reader to get what he or she gets out of those sentences without me imposing any interpretation. So …
I am my mother’s child and I am my mother’s child, I am my father’s child and I am my father’s child, and if that line is a little too much like Gertrude Stein, then I might be a little bit her child too.
— A.M. Homes, The Mistress’s Daughter
(Thanks to Jane for taking this book out of the library, reminding me how much I adore this sentence.)