Time Is A Great Conference

“god,” She Cried, “what Is Love? Man Seeking His Own Head? The Human Head, So Rented By Misery That Even The Teeth Weigh! She Couldn't Tell Me The Truth Because She Had Never Planned It; Her Life Was A Continual Accident, And How Can You Be Prepared For That? Everything We Can't Bear In This World, Some Day We Find In One Person, And Love It All At Once.”

What Is A Ruin But Time Easing Itself Of Endurance?

And Must I, Perchance, Like Careful Writers, Guard Myself Against The Conclusions Of My Readers?

Dreams Have Only The Pigmentation Of Fact.

I Couldn't Ever Boil Potatoes Over The Heat Of Your Affection. Your Love Would Never Bridge A Gap; It Wouldn't Even Fill Up The Hole That The Mice Came Through.