Posted by: Bruce Proctor | September 30, 2014

Small Gray Book, pages 74, 73, 72

page 74

until a life-threatening illness, when they are forced to confront their own mortality, and a different perspective takes hold.

found Miss Stein’s books difficult and often unintelligible.

his critical acumen, his untiring patience, and his constant encouragement.

what she thought about literature and grammar and punctuation.

words, sentences, paragraphs, and punctuation.

linguistic diarrhea, empty singsong

saints and pigeons rather than grass and trees.

demanded a very high level of accuracy and an extreme degree of patience.

connecting the spots, then wiggling

page 73

ridicule or incredulity

a sequence of themes and variations that gained in mystery and intensity as it unfolded.

startlingly simplified and extremely poetic

the gaps of history between what is known and what is legend.

a photograph freezes motion, frames the moment

science as you think of it separates itself from the subject at hand. Art identifies with the subject.

three fingers, and the hand was almost as long as the forearm.

This would seem to settle the matter, but, as with much debate about the Bible, probably won’t.

I finally sided with reason and decided against it.

wandering natives from the regions of the interior

page 72

you could hear the proverbial pin

that indefinable but absolutely quintessential factor

poems that were growing in form as he walked the long rows

apparently effortless and deceptively artless phrasing and wisp-like delicacy

by lamplight, by fireside light, and later by electric light

a foie gras medallion of duck breast over buttered toast with apricot conserve and citrus truffle micro greens, finished with duck fat honey.

dauntingly turgid as an expositor

forty years after his death at eighty-five

a slack period between the harvest of hay and roughage and the gathering in of corn.

the strange shining thing he has found

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