Am I Hideous, Jane? Very,

Feeling Without Judgement Is A Washy Draught Indeed; But Judgement Untempered By Feeling Is Too Bitter And Husky A Morsel For Human Deglutition.

Spring Drew On... And A Greenness Grew Over Those Brown Beds, Which, Freshening Daily, Suggested The Thought That Hope Traversed Them At Night And Left Each Morning Brighter Traces Of Her Steps.

Flirting Is A Woman’s Trade, One Must Keep In Practice.

The Vehemence Of Emotion, Stirred By Grief And Love Within Me, Was Claiming Mastery, And Struggling For Full Sway; And Asserting A Right To Predominate: To Overcome, To Live, Rise, And Reign At Last; Yes,--and To Speak.

The Writer Who Possesses The Creative Gift Owns Something Of Which He Is Not Always Master - Something That, At Times, Strangely Wills And Works For Itself.