Monthly Archives: March 2014

“We say of some things that they can’t be forgiven, or that we will never forgive ourselves. But we do — we do it all the time.”

These are the final sentences in Alice Munro’s collection of short stories, Dear Life, which won the Nobel Prize.  I believe that the character is lying and that she wishes she could forgive herself. I’m sure that other readers have come to … Continue reading

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“Reflection is a mighty endeavor…no occupation is more powerful or more feeble, depending on the soul”

How come some people who write about themselves are bores, and others are fascinating? Michel de Montaigne, an inventor who lived in the 1500s, is fascinating.  Instead of keeping a record of what he did, he recorded what he was thinking about.  He … Continue reading

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“There’s a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons — that oppresses, like the Heft of Cathedral Tunes –“

  Where would we be, during difficult winters like this one, without the help of Emily Dickinson? This poem ends with these lines: “When it comes, the Landscape listens — Shadows — hold their breath — When it goes, ’tis … Continue reading

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“I gave them all the truth and none of the honesty.”

How much honesty do you want from a novel? I’m at a point now where I am bored by action (isn’t that what TV is for?) and instead look for books that uncover surprising revelations. This one  does that.  McCann goes for … Continue reading

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