longing

I long to embrace, to include in my own short life, all that is accessible to man. I long to speak, to read, to wield a hammer in a great factory, to keep watch at sea, to plow. I want to be walking along the Nevsky Prospect, or in the open fields, or on the ocean _ wherever my imagination ranges.

I long to embrace, to include in my own short life, all that is accessible to man.

She was lost in her longing to understand.

On the inside, the copycats of the ruffians are more delicate than the copycats of prudes.

I love the story of a thing. I love a thing for what it means a thousand times more than for what it's worth.

The last clear thought I have is of my grandmother__ rust-colored wall clock ticking away in the darkness of my apartment__y sanctuary where I dreamed and desired and hoped for goodness and love. I wonder how long that clock will tick without anyone around to hear it. I wonder if maybe I should have taken my grandmother__ silverware or jewelry instead. I wonder _ if I knew then what I know now _ if I still would have approached Jade that first night and invited her into my life, only to watch as she took it from me and fed it to some Godless thing, as my mother had called it. Would I still have given myself over to her, knowing it would end the same way, with the barbaric flicker of hope that this time she could love me?