For last year’s words belong to last year’s language and next year’s words await another voice.
―T.S. Eliot, from Four Quartets


Poets think in lines, prose writers in sentences; the best of both work from sound to sense, with an ear for the music in their compositions. S for Sentence celebrates lyricism in prose, the play and craft at work in the artful sentence. We post a sentence a month along with comments by a guest writer on the craft that shapes it, on what makes it great. In one or two sentences.
—Pearl Abraham, Editor
This statement would ring true any given year, but more than ever this one. Its rhythm, emerging from repetition and parallel phrasing, is biblical and to my ear prayerful. Replace “year’s” with “novel’s” or “poem’s” and these lines become a writer’s prayer. Happy new year, S friends, contributors, and readers. This is the last post for S. Thank you for a good run.
―Pearl Abraham is the author of American Taliban and The Seventh Beggar