He lives the poetry that he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realize.

the worst evil which befalls our race is, that when we are wronged and plundered, all the world laughs around, and we are compelled to suppress our sense of injury, and to smile tamely, when we would revenge bravely.

Fiction here is likely to contain more truth than fact.

Danny could see it in their faces when they shook Steve’s hand—they’d have preferred him dead. Death allowed for the illusion of heroism. The maimed turned that illusion into an uncomfortable odor.

Written By Dennis Lehane

About us

Featured posts

Featured Topics

Quick Links