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… During my junior semester abroad, I worked as a companion for Anne-Marie, a famously reclusive French poet who died a couple years ago. She had a rule I knew well, though … tossed with rum-soaked dried cranberries and a drizzle of balsamic vinegar. For dessert, she made a cast-iron fruit …

… of got used to dormitory living. The year was 1959. I had come home to Marshall to begin a belated college career and … Did I really want to spend my days carting around dead bodies? Wasn’t there something a bit spooky and, well, strange … off. I can remember gazing down at his poor shrunken genitals, the flaccid little penis and the wrinkled, drawn-up …

… Visit An hour selecting the best talking book to help him die: What was I thinking as I dragged my finger across the … Navigation, The Too of Weight Loss, Focusing—  nothing but comfort , a heating pad when the cramps knife in, or tiger … To do the wrong thing out of love: What makes anything but compost of death? This does, this does, this does. 489-490 …

… to look pretty. Some of those goals seem impossible, or incompatible, or prohibitively difficult; not worth what I … Most of my favorite music during the 1990s was called indie-pop, or “twee,” a mostly British genre derived from the … dress, because at this point in my life, and perhaps at all points, I’d be too distracted, and so would my students. I’d …

… angle turn to form a short L-shaped structure, which accommodated one extra stall and a breeding area, Nicholas … stud. All the mares in this shed were pregnant with his foals. “You hear that, Molly?” he said. “Hawk’s calling you. … her hands and feet hacked off. A few years later his mother died of cancer. It was diagnosed in April, and she was dead …