Friday, 6 March 2009
The first sentence of the book I'm currently reading.I met Penny Driver two months after my twenty-eighth birthday - or two months after my second birthday, depending on how you want to count it.
The first sentence of the last three books I've read.
Today is my sixty-seventh birthday, a hot day in the summer of 410 in the year of our Lord, according to the new Christian system of dating the passage of time.
When I was still in Amsterdam, I dreamed about my mother for the first time in years.
In the spaces of calm almost lost in what followed, the question of why tended to surface.
They Call Them Buttons.
I Wish I Could Make My Own.
But I Don't Know How.
So I Just Cut and Paste.