Short story collections are the literary equivalent of canapés, tapas and mezze in the world of gastronomy: Delightful assortments of tasty morsels to whet the reader’s appetite.
Oil may run out, liquidity may dry up, but as long as ink flows freely, the next chapter of Life will continue to be written.
If bread – the staff of life – feeds the body; stories nourish the soul.
When a political opponent resorts to the racist card, it’s a sure sign of moral bankruptcy: there’s no decent argument left in the armoury.
There is already enough chattering nonsense on the ground. Do we really need aviaries in pressurised tin cans at 30,000 feet as well ?
Wrinkles ? Why all the fuss ? Think of them as lines of distinction; marks of maturity.
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