Here life is, moves; faintly. A wrist. The faint throb of blood, precise, miraculous... And they talk of dying! The blood delicately descending and ascending: making an arm. Being an arm. The warm flesh, the dim slender flesh filled with life, slenderer than a miracle, frailer... These are the shoulders through which fell the world. The dangerous shoulders of Eve, in God's entire garden newly strolling.

Info

Comments

Send your comment
Rate this quote:0.00 in 0 votes

Disclaimer [read/hide]

A Guide to Writing comments