I Think Of Myself As

I Despise People Who Can't Control Themselves.

There Is No Shame — Having A Dirty Face — The Shame Comes When You Keep It Dirty.

My Yardstick Is How Somebody Treats Me.

It Snowed All Week. Wheels And Footsteps Moved Soundlessly On The Street, As If The Business Of Living Continued Secretly Behind A Pale But Impenetrable Curtain. In The Falling Quiet There Was No Sky Or Earth, Only Snow Lifting In The Wind, Frosting The Window Glass, Chilling The Rooms, Deadening And Hushing The City. At All Hours It Was Necessary To Keep A Lamp Lighted, And Mrs. Miller Lost Track Of The Days: Friday Was No Different From Saturday And On Sunday She Went To The Grocery: Closed, Of Course.

I Thought Of The Future, And Spoke Of The Past.