I Deem As Heroic Those

God Is The God Of The People Who Are At Their Wits End, Who Are Right Up Against It With Their Backs To The Wall, And He Delights To Come To Our Help When We Need Him Most.

The Whole Joy Of Writing Comes From The Opportunity To Go Over It And Make It Good, One Way Or Another.

I'm Tired Of My Life, My Clothes, The Things I Say. I'm Hacking Away At The Surface, As At Some Kind Of Gray Ice, Trying To Break Through To What Is Underneath Or I Am Dead. I Can Feel The Surface Trembling—it Seems Ready To Give But It Never Does. I Am Uninterested In Current Events. How Can I Justify This? How Can I Explain It? I Don't Want To Have The Same Vocabulary I've Always Had. I Want Something Richer, Broader, More Penetrating And Powerful.

We Were Moderate, We Will Never Know What It Is To Spill Out Our Lives.

A Light Snow, A Snow So Faint And Small-bodied That It Seems Nothing More Than A Manifestation Of The Cold.