It is a horrible fact that we can read in the daily paper, without interrupting our breakfast, numerical reckonings of death and destruction that ought to break our hearts or scare us out of our wits. less than 1 minute read
Now suddenly there was nothing but a world of cloud, and we three were there alone in the middle of a great white plain with snowy hills and mountains staring at us and it was very still but there were whispers. less than 1 minute read
For days after death hair and fingernails continue to grow, but phone calls taper off. less than 1 minute read
The enemy fought with savage fury, and met death with all its horrors, without shrinking or complaining: not one asked to be spared, but fought as long as they could stand or sit. less than 1 minute read
Monarchs ought to put to death the authors and instigators of war, as their sworn enemies and as dangers to their states. less than 1 minute read
Living is a sickness to which sleep provides relief every sixteen hours. It’s a palliative. The remedy is death. less than 1 minute read
When theater becomes a soothing middle-class thing, when it’s packaged as the Night Out, then that’s the death of it. less than 1 minute read
