If Youth Did Not Matter

Yes, And Because We Grow Old We Become More And More The Stuff Our Forbears Put Into Us. I Can Feel His Savagery Strengthen In Me. We Think We Are So Individual And So Misunderstood When We Are Young; But The Nature Our Strain Of Blood Carries Is Inside There, Waiting, Like Our Skeleton.

In Haverford On The Platte The Townspeople Still Talk Of Lucy Gayheart.

After All, The Supreme Virtue In All Art Is Soul, Perhaps It Is The Only Thing Which Gives Art A Right To Be.

All Southern Women Wished Of Their Menfolk Was Simply To Be 'like Paris Handsome And Like Hector Brave'.

The Heart, When It Is Too Much Alive, Aches For That Brown Earth, And Ecstasy Has No Fear Of Death.