The Thanksgiving Visitor

there is only one unpardonable sin--deliberate cruelty. All else can be forgiven.

Now listen to me, Buddy: there is only one unpardonable sin - deliberate cruelty. All else can be forgiven. That, never.

You don't understand. You've never hated anybody. No, I never have. We're allotted just so much time on earth, and I wouldn't want the Lord to see me wasting mine in any such manner.

It is well known that women outlive men; could it merely be superior vanity that keeps them going?

Annabel played and sang it; she was the oldest of the sisters and the loveliest, though it was a chore to pick among them, for they were like quadruplets of unequal height. One thought of apples, compact and flavorful, sweet but cider-tart; their hair, loosely plaited, had the blue luster of a well-groomed ebony racehorse, and certain features, eyebrows, noses, lips when smiling, tilted in an original style that added humor to their charms. The nicest thing was that they were a bit plump: "pleasingly plump" describes it precisely.

And unless one can observe the guilt and regret of the mourners, surely there is nothing satisfactory about being dead?

Chrysanthemums,” my friend commented as we moved through our garden stalking flower-show blossoms with decapitating shears, “are like lions. Kingly characters. I always expect them to spring. To turn on me with a growl and a roar.

[] le pregunté abiertamente qué había hecho yo para desagradarle [] dijo: «Eres un marica. Yo sólo te estoy reformando» Tenía razón. Yo era una especie de marica, y en el instante en que lo dijo comprendí que no había nada que yo pudiera hacer para que cambiara de opinión, si no era convencerme a mí mismo y aceptar y defender el hecho.