Life, The Permission To Know

One Must Not Look Inward Too Much, While The Inside Is Yet Tender. I Do Not Wish To Frighten Myself Until I Can Stand It.

The Truth Is How You Say It, And To Be 'one's Self' Is The Most Shocking Custom Of All.

When Autumn Shadows Throw Their Patterns Across The Land, They Are Not The Images Of Fragile, Dying Leaves, Not The Bared Arms Of Lofty Elms, Not Shadows Of A Fading Summer; But Swinging Shapes As Of Books Upon A Strap, Of Round And Square Boxes Held Under An Arm, Of Hurrying Little People Heading Towards The Nearest School.

One's Life Is Peculiar To One's Own When One Has Invented It.

I'm A Fart In A Gale Of Wind, A Humble Violet Under A Cow Pat.