By the the time of this interview, Hemingway was already bitter and angry. I kept thinking about his suicide.
T.S. Eliot
It's St. Patrick's Day in Boston, but here I am. Though, I could have chosen to go outside.
Cathreen's sisters are sending money for her to buy things here in America. This is what America is for. It's the babies birthdays soon, and we debate gifts. They're my nephews, too, I tell her. My only ones. My relationship with the cat is one of giving to the taker. "That little creature," Cathreen says. That little creature is the lucky one. This paragraph is a paragraph of desire.
Eliot thinks that common speech might disappear. Has it?
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