It is easy to love people in memory; the hard thing is to love them when they are there in front of you.
John Updike, My Father’s Tears and Other Stories
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Guy who refers to Stoppard's "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead" and Updike's "Gertrude and Claudius" as "The Hamlet Extended Universe"
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It is easy to love people in memory; the hard thing is to love them when they are there in front of you.
John Updike, My Father’s Tears and Other Stories
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January
by John Updike
The days are short
The sun a spark
Hung thin between
The dark and dark.
Fat snowy footsteps
Track the floor
And parkas pile up
Near the door.
The river is
A frozen place
Held still beneath
The trees' black lace
The sky is low.
The wind is gray.
The radiator
Purrs all day.
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It is easy to love people in memory; the hard thing is to love them when they are there in front of you.
John Updike, My Father’s Tears and Other Stories
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It is easy to love people in memory; the hard thing is to love them when they are there in front of you.
John Updike, My Father’s Tears and Other Stories
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It is easy to love people in memory; the hard thing is to love them when they are there in front of you.
John Updike, My Father’s Tears and Other Stories
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It is easy to love people in memory; the hard thing is to love them when they are there in front of you.
John Updike, My Father’s Tears and Other Stories
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It is easy to love people in memory; the hard thing is to love them when they are there in front of you.
John Updike, My Father’s Tears and Other Stories
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Photography by Christina Coral
How innocently life ate the days.
~John Updike
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"I want to write books that unlock the traffic jam in everybody's head." — John Updike
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There is this quality, in things, of the right way seeming wrong at first.
John Updike
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There is this quality, in things, of the right way seeming wrong at first.
John Updike, Rabbit, Run
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Hoeing
by John Updike
I sometimes fear the younger generation will be deprived
of the pleasures of hoeing;
there is no knowing
how many souls have been formed by this simple exercise.
The dry earth like a great scab breaks, revealing
moist-dark loam—
the pea-root’s home,
a fertile wound perpetually healing.
How neatly the green weeds go under!
The blade chops the earth new.
Ignorant the wise boy who
has never performed this simple, stupid, and useful wonder.
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