You invent yourself...You look at other women-or men; you try on their lives for size. You take what you can use, and you look inside yourself for what you can't find elsewhere. And always...always...you wonder if you're doing it right.

They were bound for college, husbands, child-rearing, unhappiness only dimly perceived—bound, in other words, for life.

I looked westward and marveled that, somewhere over those mountains, Kabul still existed. It really existed, not just as an old memory, or as the heading of an AP story on page 15 of the San Francisco Chronicle.

Without all that young stuff, Stamford, you will die a slave. And it will not be a pretty die.

Written By Edward P. Jones

About us

Featured posts

Featured Topics

Quick Links