Folklore Is The Boiled-down Juice,

Want Won't Kill You Half As Quick As Worry Will.

The Morning Air Was Like A New Dress. That Made Her Feel The Apron Tied Around Her Waist. She Untied It And Flung It On A Low Bush Beside The Road And Walked On, Picking Flowers And Making A Bouquet… From Now On Until Death She Was Going To Have Flower Dust And Springtime Sprinkled Over Everything.

Janie Looked Down On Him And Felt A Self-crushing Love. So Her Soul Crawled Out From Its Hiding Place.

Gods Always Behave Like The People Who Make Them.

The Sun Had Become A Light Yellow Yolk And Was Walking With Red Legs Across The Sky.