My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Indifference Takes Hold
It seems there are fewer opportunities to validate what is right, less occasions in which to find goodness recognized or people pleased to act as they ought. It is not that something terrible has taken the ascendency. Rather, indifference is the more prominent -- an absence rather than a presence.
Labels:
goodness,
indifference
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