Ralph Also Took Some Classes

There Isn't Enough Of Anything As Long As We Live. But At Intervals A Sweetness Appears And, Given A Chance Prevails.

The Smooth Stones You Pick Up And Examine Under The Moon's Light Have Been Made Blue From The Sea. Next Morning When You Pull Them From Your Trouser Pocket, They Are Still Blue.

It's Possible, In A Poem Or Short Story, To Write About Commonplace Things And Objects Using Commonplace But Precise Language, And To Endow Those Things—a Chair, A Window Curtain, A Fork, A Stone, A Woman's Earring—with Immense, Even Startling Power.

You're A Beautiful Drunk, Daughter. But You're A Drunk.

She Serves Me A Piece Of It A Few Minutes Out Of The Oven. A Little Steam Rises From The Slits On Top. Sugar And Spice - Cinnamon - Burned Into The Crust. But She's Wearing These Dark Glasses In The Kitchen At Ten O'clock In The Morning - Everything Nice - As She Watches Me Break Off A Piece, Bring It To My Mouth, And Blow On It. My Daughter's Kitchen, In Winter. I Fork The Pie In And Tell Myself To Stay Out Of It. She Says She Loves Him. No Way Could It Be Worse.