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"Distance is always clearer. I no longer see words in focus. As if my soul is a blunt tooth." Michael Ondaatje, Death at Kataragama from Handwriting (1998, McClelland and Stewart)

"Distance is always clearer. I no longer see words in focus. As if my soul is a blunt tooth." Michael Ondaatje, Death at Kataragama from Handwriting (1998, McClelland and Stewart)

INK is indelible; once printed, books cannot be rewritten. Or can they? Eighteen months ago Rick Gekoski, a London-based antiquarian bookdealer, persuaded 50 authors...

Reconsidering

INK is indelible; once printed, books cannot be rewritten. Or can they? Eighteen months ago Rick Gekoski, a London-based antiquarian bookdealer, persuaded 50 authors...

"My mother laughs  At the angels who wait for us to pause During the most ordinary of days  And sing our praise to forgetfulness Before they slap our souls with their cold wings."  -Sherman Alexie, from "Grief Calls Us to the Things of This World"

"My mother laughs At the angels who wait for us to pause During the most ordinary of days And sing our praise to forgetfulness Before they slap our souls with their cold wings." -Sherman Alexie, from "Grief Calls Us to the Things of This World"

Gregory David Roberts (Shantaram)

Gregory David Roberts (Shantaram)

Oprah Winfrey #Inspirational... - To watch free Inspirational Videos visit http://betterdaystv.com/pin-inspirational

Oprah Winfrey #Inspirational... - To watch free Inspirational Videos visit http://betterdaystv.com/pin-inspirational

A Book Of Music   by Jack Spicer	  (....) But, you will say, we loved And some parts of us loved And the rest of us will remain Two persons.  Yes, Poetry ends like a rope.

A Book Of Music by Jack Spicer (....) But, you will say, we loved And some parts of us loved And the rest of us will remain Two persons. Yes, Poetry ends like a rope.

I have traveled along the contours/   of leaves that have no name. Here/  where the air is wet and the light is cool,/  I feel what others are thinking and do not speak,/ I know pleasure in the veins of a sugar maple,/ I am living at the edge of a new leaf.  - from The Shapes of Leaves by Arthur Sze

I have traveled along the contours/ of leaves that have no name. Here/ where the air is wet and the light is cool,/ I feel what others are thinking and do not speak,/ I know pleasure in the veins of a sugar maple,/ I am living at the edge of a new leaf. - from The Shapes of Leaves by Arthur Sze

The Pear by Jane Hirshfield November. One pear    sways on the tree past leaves, past reason. In the nursing home, my friend has fallen.    Chased, he said, from the freckled woods by angry Thoreau, Coleridge, and Beaumarchais. Delusion too, it seems, can be well read.

The Pear by Jane Hirshfield November. One pear sways on the tree past leaves, past reason. In the nursing home, my friend has fallen. Chased, he said, from the freckled woods by angry Thoreau, Coleridge, and Beaumarchais. Delusion too, it seems, can be well read.

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