After All, You Can't Expect

And Where Was Happiness If It Sprung Not From The Soil? Where Contentment If It Dwelt Not Near To Nature?

Women Like To Sit Down With Trouble - As If It Were Knitting.

It Is Only In The Heart That Anything Really Happens.

What Was Time Itself But The Bloom, The Sheath Enfolding Experience? Within Time, And With Time Alone, There Was Life - The Gleam, The Quiver, The Heartbeat, The Immeasurable Joy And Anguish Of Being.

No One In The Modern World Is More Lonely Than The Writer With A Literary Conscience.