"Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art."
No thanks, Dahleen. I am so eaten up with self-hate, you know. Can’t stand the sight.
While we’re at it, how are you with your white workmates? You must be a joy for them, though some may like wallowing.
But me? Count me out.
Later, alligator.
via Chicago Tribune
Wrap your head around this . . .
. . . from Aussie writer Lydia Davis’ early collection Break It Down (1986):
Though everyone wishes it would not happen, and thought it would be far better if it did not happen, it sometimes does happen that a second daughter is born and there are two sisters.
I love (a) the sentence structure, (b) the irony.
Blithe Spirit 