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He must always be a stranger to the place he loves, and its people.
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His claim to his home is deep, but there are too many ghosts. He must absorb without being absorbed.
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And it was to this city, whenever I went home, that I always knew I must return, for it was mistress of one's wildest hopes, protector of one's deepest privacies. It was half insane with its noise, violence, and decay, but it gave one the tender security of fulfillment.
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We want to help further the understanding of the Italian culture and language to those who are interested. We're hoping that these events will spark students' interests in our club and prompt more people to join, along with providing an educational and entertaining experience.
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As with many Southern Writers, I believe that the special quality of the land itself indelibly shapes the people who dwell upon it.
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The dog of your boyhood teaches you a great deal about friendship, and love, and death: Old Skip was my brother. They had buried him under our elm tree, they said-yet this wasn't totally true. For he really lay buried in my heart.
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It took me years to understand that words are often as important as experience, because words make experience last.
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When a writer knows home in his heart, his heart must remain subtly apart from it.