Author: dig

“… cannot be earned, merited or deserved, only generously given”

“There was a bracketed place in her brain where things were both true and not true simultaneously. […] Live two lives. Escape and be at home” (ZS)

“we must tap the well of our own collective imaginations” (RK)

“… it lies in patterns of meaning, in invocations of values, and in connection to the life the reader is living and the world she wants to see.” (RS)

Again, as always, when the shadows fall,
    In that sweet space between the dark and day, 
I leave the present and its fretful claims
    And seek the dim past where my memories stay. 
I dream an old, forgotten, far-off dream, 
     And think old thoughts and live old scenes anew, 
Till suddenly I reach the heart of Spring—
    The spring that brought me you!
I see again a little woody lane, 
    The moonlight rifting golden through the trees;
I hear the plaintive chirp of drowsy bird
    Lulled dreamward by a tender, vagrant breeze;
I hold your hand, I look into your eyes,
    I touch your lips,—oh, peerless, matchless dower!
Oh, Memory thwarting Time and Space and Death!
    Oh, Little Perfect Hour!

Jessie Redmon Fauset, Douce Souvenance