Under the Harrow

I don't know how to survive the hours until I can sleep.

On top of the courthouse is a statue of a blindfolded woman holding a sword and a pair of scales. The blindfold makes her look like she is about to be executed.

He stares back at me, amused, and I think the disguise hasn't convinced him, but he probably does this to all women--journalists, prosecutors, judges--a stripping-down, an assessment. Their reserve and competence don't fool him. He knows what they're like. He knows what they look and sound like when they're scared.

Where would a violent man go, where would a monster go. It was hard to know what someone who liked hurting women would also like.

The dog raised his paw in silhouette, like a dog from the unicorn tapestries, with the embroidered woods behind him. I remember thinking that this isn’t the newest moment in history but the oldest, that time isn’t thinning but thickening.

It was good to be so scared. The ocean was very large, as was the universe. Which contained the ocean. And the oceans on other planets, and other planets. The fear made the domestic rituals better. The almond croissant, the detective novel, the outdoor shower. Here I am, I thought, taking an outdoor shower in the universe. While we were here, I wanted to stay forever, but I was also already thinking of leaving. Always biding and always going, always at the exact same time.

If I weighed my actions further in the past, the regret might kill me.

I remember thinking that this isn’t the newest moment in history but the oldest, that time isn’t thinning but thickening.

Come, what do we gain by evasions? We are under the harrow and can’t escape. —C. S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

We can't tell you not to talk to the press...They will get in the way, and then when they get bored they will look for what makes Rachel interesting." "What makes her interesting?" "The worst things about her.

Faulty equipment is the cause of one-fourth of all deaths in hospital. Never,