I May Say That I

All Great Poetry Is Dipped In The Dyes Of The Heart.

Virginia Woolf, I Enjoyed Talking To Her, But Thought Nothing Of Her Writing. I Considered Her 'a Beautiful Little Knitter.

The Light Would Show (if It Could Harden) Eternities Of Kitchen Garden

When We Think Of Cruelty, We Must Try To Remember The Stupidity, The Envy, The Frustration From Which It Has Arisen.

Winter Is The Time For Comfort, For Good Food And Warmth, For The Touch Of A Friendly Hand And For A Talk Beside The Fire: It Is The Time For Home. It Is No Season In Which To Wander The World As If One Were The Wind Blowing Aimlessly Along The Streets Without A Place To Rest, Without Food, And Without Time Meaning Anything To One, Just As Time Means Nothing To The Wind.