Houseroom for things you forget or try to imagine: a saw, two planks of plywood, a jam jar of nails, the shredded fibres of a doormat returning to hair, a coal scuttle, pair of breathless bellows — implements in their places, for love, for sorrow — and something immeasurably near, nudging the hardware.
Houseroom for things you forget or try to imagine: a saw, two planks of plywood, a jam jar of nails, the shredded fibres of a doormat returning to hair, a coal scuttle, pair of breathless bellows— implements in their places, for love, for sorrow— and something immeasurably near, nudging the hardware.
by Sharon Levy Houseroom for things you forget or try to imagine: a saw, two planks of plywood, a jam jar of nails, the shredded fibres of a doormat returning to hair, a coal scuttle, pair of breathless bellows — implements in their places, for love, for sorrow — and something immeasurably near, nudging the hardware.
Maybe while the world is watching over the coming months, but at some point their transgressions will become old news and the coast may be clear for a return to the behavior that, for all their sorrow, was something they were enjoying until they got caught.
Why does Moxley, or other childless adults, find that "the longing for something to protect / ties us up with useless sorrow"?
Removing an option of education, life lessons and a chance for something better, and replacing it with a cold assembly line and price tag, can only breed more sorrow, division, loneliness and heartache.
When in sorrow, learn something new, T. H. White said, at least according to Richard Burton in his recently published diaries.
Do you feel sorrow about something?
Instead of wishing for something more we ought to be satisfied that death, because it is the absolute end of our lives, will end sorrow.
