A Woman Needn't Be Dragged Down By

To Every Man Who Struggles With His Own Soul In Mystery, A Book That Is A Book Flowers Once, And Seeds, And Is Gone.

If You Try To Nail Anything Down, In The Novel, Either It Kills The Novel, Or The Novel Gets Up And Walks Away With The Nail.

Not I, Not I, But The Wind That Blows Through Me! A Fine Wind Is Blowing The New Direction Of Time.

For My Part, I Prefer My Heart To Be Broken. It Is So Lovely, Dawn-kaleidoscopic Within The Crack.

Sleep Is Still Most Perfect, In Spite Of Hygienists, When It Is Shared With A Beloved. The Warmth, The Security And Peace Of Soul, The Utter Comfort From The Touch Of The Other, Knits The Sleep, So That It Takes The Body And Soul Completely In Its Healing.