Sunday, June 10, 2018

Sunday Sentence: Separate Flights by Andre Dubus

Simply put, the best sentence(s) I’ve read this past week, presented out of context and without commentary.

He lives in a small town, so already he is out in the country; he runs past farmhouses, country homes, service stations. There are not many cars and most of the time he has the privacy of his own sounds—his steady breathing, his feet on the wet plowed and sanded blacktop—and, more than that, the absolute privacy of his body staking its claim on a country road past white hills and dark green trees, gray barns, and naked elms and maples and oaks waiting for spring: his body insisting upon itself, pumping blood and pounding up hills.

“Going Under” from Separate Flights by Andre Dubus

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