A Child's Attitude Toward Everything Is An

The Trees And Shrubbery Seemed Well-groomed And Social, Like Pleasant People.

From Two Ears That Had Grown Side By Side, The Grains Of One Shot Up Joyfully Into The Light, Projecting Themselves Into The Future, And The Grains From The Other Lay Still In The Earth And Rotted; And Nobody Knew Why.

There Are Only Two Or Three Human Stories, And They Go On Repeating Themselves As Fiercely As If They Had Never Happened Before.

Oh, This Is The Joy Of The Rose; That It Blows, And Goes.

I Tell You There Is Such A Thing As Creative Hate.