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The Sun Magazine

The Sun Interview

Reflections Of A Ninety-Three-Year-Old Revolutionary

An Interview With Hazel Wolf

If I’d known as a child what I know now, I’d have become an environmentalist on the spot. I guess you could say that my childhood dreams led me first to help people in their individual environments — housing and health care, and things like that. But I ended up working to save our natural home.

Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

The Attending Physician

These days, the label “attending” is attached to “physician” as a matter of course, obscuring the possibility that it might once have meant something beyond a job description.

Night Of Dying

Eighteen months ago, when doctors told Keith he had two months to live, we were separate — he with cancer, me helping him fight it. But six months before he died, he quit the fight, and quietly resigned to dying. This is the point at which we became inseparable.


Out Of Season

Ash doesn’t get out of bed to say goodbye. She never does. It’s best this way, watching him walk away from her, memorizing the curve of his back, his straight shoulders. She is practicing for the final time — for it will come, she tells herself, as it always does. Although it is her bed, her door, she has never followed him there. To stand at the door is too much like marriage — the perky wife sending her husband off, the brisk sexless kiss. Better this way, to remind herself that this bed is where their loving starts and stops.

Lady Con

I could just feel her fingers stroking my hair, smoothing the satin ribbon, a message that she was still awake but hadn’t energy for talk. I strained the small brocade stool tighter against the bed, pressed my head deeper into her lap — glad it had long been customary for us to sit this way, for it now allowed me to stare at the tall, lopsided mound of her feet beneath the covers, and not at her thin, wax-skinned face. Even with two thick coverlets over the blankets, her pelvic bone pressed like a wooden hanger against my cheek; I was sure it would leave a red mark. She had been eating for nearly two weeks now. How thin could she have been when she was first released?

Letter From A Mailbag

It was a dare. A dare I gave myself, but still a dare: “I will ride in a mailman’s pouch all day, and write an article about it for The New Yorker.”

Readers Write


I knew the symptoms right away: sickness at the smell of cooking meat; lassitude; a faint rising sensation in my lower belly. I was so sure that when my first test came back negative, I returned for another. It was the same gynecologist who had delivered me. Through a mask of disapproval and anger, he said we would schedule the operation for the following month.

Personal Stories By Our Readers ▸


We do not have too much intellect and too little soul, but too little precision in matters of the soul.

Robert Musil

More Quotations ▸
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