John Collier: Mary
Mary is a spoilt pig in this story, and Rosie finds the competition for Fred's affection rather tough. I loved this:
He came out with a huge box of chocolates. Rosie smiled all over her face with joy. "For me?" she said. "Yes," said he. "To give to her as soon as she claps eyes on you. They're her weakness.
Robert Frost (1874 - 1963): An Old Man's Winter Night
I'm in awe of Robert Frost. Like so many poems, it has to be read aloud, and each word savoured. I want to read a poem a night for the rest of my life!All out of doors looked darkly in at him Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars, That gathers on the pane in empty rooms. What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand. What kept him from remembering what it was That brought him to that creaking room was age. He stood with barrels round him—at a loss. And having scared the cellar under him In clomping there, he scared it once again In clomping off;—and scared the outer night, Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar Of trees and crack of branches, common things, But nothing so like beating on a box. A light he was to no one but himself Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what, A quiet light, and then not even that. He consigned to the moon,—such as she was, So late-arising,—to the broken moon As better than the sun in any case For such a charge, his snow upon the roof, His icicles along the wall to keep; And slept. The log that shifted with a jolt Once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted, And eased his heavy breathing, but still slept. One aged man—one man—can’t fill a house, A farm, a countryside, or if he can, It’s thus he does it of a winter night.
Ray Bradbury: Investing Dimes: Fahrenheit 451(1982)
The story of how the book (and play) came into being, being typed by a madman paying 10 cents for half an hour on a rented typewriter. The joy and passion are infectious.