The other day my local library was having a book sale, and I found a stack of Graham Greene books--light green paperbacks, as it happened, together thick as grass--and bought them all. I haven't read much Greene in my life and have just begun Journey Without Maps. I'll share with you the opening sentences, which speak to me both as a reader and as a writer:
"The tall black door in the narrow city remained closed. I rang and knocked and rang again. I could not hear the bell ringing; to ring it again and again was simply an act of faith or despair, and later sitting before a hut in French Guinea, where I never meant to find myself, I remembered this first going astray, the buses passing at the corner and the pale autumn sun."
Keep ringing, my friends.
--MD
"The tall black door in the narrow city remained closed. I rang and knocked and rang again. I could not hear the bell ringing; to ring it again and again was simply an act of faith or despair, and later sitting before a hut in French Guinea, where I never meant to find myself, I remembered this first going astray, the buses passing at the corner and the pale autumn sun."
Keep ringing, my friends.
--MD
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