“It had been a good day, all things considered. I had managed rather well on my own. I opened Grandfather's Bible. This is what it would be like when I had my own shop, or when I traveled abroad. I would always read before sleeping. One day, I'd be so rich I would have a library full of novel to choose from. But I would always end the evening with a Bible passage.”
“What did it feel like to die? Was it a peaceful sleep? Some thought it was full of either trumpet-blowing angels or angry devils. Perhaps I was already dead.”
“No. Absolutely not. I forbid it. You'll have nightmares."
"She was my friend! You must allow me. Why are you so horrid?"
As soon as the angry words were out of my mouth, I knew I had gone too far.
"Matilda!" Mother rose from her chair. "You are forbidden to pseak to me in that tone! Apologize at once.”
“Had she ever enjoyed anything? Had every day been a struggle? Perhaps death would be a release, a rest for the weary.”
“Too much sleep is bad for your health, Matilda." She slipped a freshly made ball of butter into a stone crock. "It must be such a grippe, a sleeping sickness.”
“She looks like a china doll,” observed Grandfather as we departed. “I will break just as easily,” I muttered.”
“Our inhumane neighbors, instead of sympathizing with us tauntingly proclaim the healthfulness if their won cities…”
“Like most blacks in Philadelphia, Eliza was free. She said Philadelphia was the best city for freed slaves or freeborn Africans.”
“Good afternoon, Nathaniel. Kindly return my basket.”
“Is that all you have to say? You disappoint me. I thought you would send me sailing into the horse trough at least. I guess you respect my new position as a man of the world.”
“You are not a man of the world, you clean paintbrushes, though for the life of me I don’t know why Mr. Peale bothers with you. And you will end up in that trough if you don’t give back my basket.” I paused. “Your shoe buckle is missing.”
“What?”
I grabbed the basket as he looked down to inspect his shoe.
“Very funny,” he said.”
“One had to be careful with elbows and boys”
“If the president was back, then the fever was truly over. If the president was back, we were safe.
I threw my arms around Nathaniel and planted a big kiss on his cheek.
He pulled back in surprise.
“Do you always do that when the president rides by? If so, I’ll take a job working for him.”
I blushed and looked down at my feet.”
“Have you considered what you might do to help? You have recovered, so you cannot get the fever again. You are young and strong. We have a real need for you.”
“How can I help anyone? I’m just a girl.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to pinch myself. The first time anyone treats me like a woman and I respond like an infant.”
“that's pretty good, for a young girl"
from Fever 1793”
“Life was a battle, and Mother a tired and bitter captain”
“Wit is the most dangerous talent you can possess. It must be guarded with great discretion and good-nature, otherwise it will create you many enemies.”
—John Gregory
A Father’s Legacy to His Daughters, 1774”
“It's my first day teaching," I say to her, "Give me some advice."
"Two things," she says, "One: know all their names by tomorrow. Two: It's more important that they know you than that they know what you know.”
“But what I thought, and what I still think, and always will, is that she saw me. Nobody else has ever seen me — me, Jenny Gluckstein — like that. Not my parents, not Julian, not even Meena. Love is one thing — recognition is something else.”
“I think being so passionate about something is a talent in itself.”
“hadn’t even known if it was real or if I was losing my grip on sanity. But now, surrounded by people who looked”
“Poet is Priest
Money has reckoned the soul of America
Congress broken thru to the precipice of Eternity
the president built a War machine which will vomit and rear Russia out of Kansas
The American Century betrayed by a mad Senate which no longer sleeps with its wife.
Franco has murdered Lorca the fairy son of Whitman
just as Maykovsky committed suicide to avoid Russia
Hart Crane distinguished Platonist committed suicide to cave in the wrong America
just as millions of tons of human wheat were burned in secret caverns under the White House
while India starved and screamed and ate mad dogs full of rain
and mountains of eggs were reduced to white powder in the halls of Congress
no godfearing man will walk there again because of the stink of the rotten eggs of America
and the Indians of Chiapas continue to gnaw their vitaminless tortillas
aborigines of Australia perhaps gibber in the eggless wilderness
and I rarely have an egg for breakfast tho my work requires infinite eggs to come to birth in Eternity
eggs should be eaten or given to their mothers
and the grief of the countless chickens of America is expressed in the screaming of her comedians over the radio”
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