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I hate you, God. I hate you as though you actually exist

I hate you, God. I hate you as though you actually exist

I hate you, God. I hate you as though you actually exist. (Graham Greene, The End of the Affair)

When my brother called to inform me, on the morning of May 22, 2003, that our mother Caroline Oates had died suddenly of a stroke, it was a shock from which, in a way, I have yet to recover

As I sit here on a snowy morning watching the flakes gently fall outside my window, I look at the 300-year-old building across the street and the beautifully carved angels on its facade. There was a time people would create, just to give something beautiful to the world which we are so blessed to live in and a time when people understood the work of all of the arts

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