Category Archives: Writing

Nothing New Under the Sun

When one is old, as I am, one learns to remain silent on certain things, except when in the company of close friends of a similar age. One’s physical complaints, of course, are never to be mentioned, or only in … Continue reading

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Like a Visit with an Old Lover

This is the phrase that leaped to mind, unbidden, as I read the first few pages of the “Preface” to Hermann Hesse’s Steppenwolf. The familiarity of the words (for I have read them at least thrice), their poetical presentation (even … Continue reading

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