So This Is Where The

Nothing She Did Or Said Was Quite What She Meant But Still Her Life Could Be Called A Monument Shaped In A Slant Of Available Light And Set To The Movement Of Possible Music

Eventually, Everything Gets Stuck Between A Pair Of Parentheses Or Buried In The Bottom Of A Trunk.

It's Hard Work Being A Person, You Have To Do It Every Single Day.

So This Is Where The Years Of Maturity Deliver Us - To This Needy, Selfish, Unwieldy Wish To Be Somebody Else's First And Primal Other.

We Are Too Kind, Too Willing--too Unwilling Too--reaching Out Blindly With A Grasping Hand But Not Knowing How To Ask For What We Don't Even Know We Want.