I was growlin' one day 'cause I was so bent up and crooked; an'what do ye s'pose the little thing said? ... She said I could be glad, anyhow, that I didn't have ter stoop so far ter do my weedin' - 'cause I was already bent part way over.
Eleanor PorterAbout author
- Author's profession: Novelist, Writer
- Nationality: american
- Born: December 19, 1868
- Died: May 21, 1920
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Silence. How long it lasted, I couldn't tell. It might have been five seconds, it might have been a minute. Time wasn't fixed. It wavered, stretched, shrank. Or was it me that wavered, stretched, and shrank in the silence? I was warped in the folds of time, like a reflection in a fun house mirror.
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It is this nothingness (in solitude) that I have to face in my solitude, a nothingness so dreadful that everything in me wants to run to my friends, my work, and my distractions so that I can forget my nothingness and make myself believe that I am worth something. The task is to persevere in my solitude, to stay in my cell until all my seductive visitors get tired of pounding on my door and leave me alone. The wisdom of the desert is that the confrontation with our own frightening...
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