The World Is Always Young

Words Aren't Made — They Grow,' Said Anne.

I Can't Help Flying Up On The Wings Of Anticipation. It's As Glorious As Soaring Through A Sunset... Almost Pays For The Thud.

I Believe Flowers Have Souls. I Have Known Roses That I Expect To Meet In Heaven.

March Came In That Winter Like The Meekest And Mildest Of Lambs, Bringing Days That Were Crisp And Golden And Tingling, Each Followed By A Frosty Pink Twilight Which Gradually Lost Itself In An Elfland Of Moonshine.

She Wanted To Be Alone - To Think Things Out - To Adjust Herself, If It Were Possible, To The New World In Which She Seemed To Have Been Transplanted With A Suddenness And Completeness That Left Her Half Bewildered To Her Own Identity.