For Years And Years I

She Sits In Her Usual Ample Armchair, With Piles Of Books And Unopened Magazines Around Her. She Sips Cautiously From The Mug Of Weak Herb Tea Which Is Now Her Substitute For Coffee. At One Time She Thought That She Could Not Live Without Coffee, But It Turned Out That It Is Really The Warm Large Mug She Wants In Her Hands, That Is The Aid To Thought Or Whatever It Is She Practices Through The Procession Of Hours, Or Of Days.

The Thing Is To Be Happy, No Matter What. Just Try That. You Can. It Gets To Be Easier And Easier. It's Nothing To Do With Circumstances. You Wouldn't Believe How Good It Is. Accept Everything And Then Tragedy Disappears. Or Tragedy Lightens, Anyway, You're Just There, Going Along Easy In The World.

He Never Wanted To Be Away From Her. She Had The Spark Of Life.

Why Is It A Surprise To Find That People Other Than Ourselves Are Able To Tell Lies?

What If People Really Did That - Sent Their Love Through The Mail To Get Rid Of It? What Would It Be That They Sent? A Box Of Chocolates With Centers Like The Yolks Of Turkey Eggs. A Mud Doll With Hollow Eye Sockets. A Heap Of Roses Slightly More Fragrant Than Rotten. A Package Wrapped In Bloody Newspaper That Nobody Would Want To Open.