[From <i>Old Mortality</i>] The woman in the picture. . . was only a ghost in a frame, and a sad, pretty story from old times. - Katherine Anne Porter

An unbalanced savagely individualist people,” said Father Garza, “with their weird untraceable language and their pagan Catholicism … what would one expect? His name was Etchegaray,” he pronounced, rolling the word with sensuous pleasure.

No more war, no more plague, only the dazed silence that follows the ceasing of the heavy guns; noiseless houses with the shades drawn, empty streets, the dead cold light of tomorrow. Now there would be time for everything.

Love without marriage can sometimes be very awkward for all concerned; but marriage without love simply removes that institution from the territory of the humanly admissible, to my mind. Love is a state in which one lives who loves, and whoever loves has given himself away; love then, and not marriage, is belonging. Marriage is a public declaration of a man and a woman that they have formed a secret alliance, with the intention to belong to, and share with each other, a mystical estate; mystical exactly in the sense that the real experience cannot be communicated to others, nor explained even to oneself on rational grounds.