But Superstition, Like Belief, Must Die.

The Way The Moon Dashes Through Clouds That Blow Loosely As Cannon-smoke... Is A Reminder Of The Strength And Pain Of Being Young; That It Can't Come Again, But Is For Others Undiminished Somewhere.

No One Can Tear Your Thread Out Of Himself. No One Can Tie You Down Or Set You Free.

Here No Elsewhere Underwrites My Existence.

Most People Know More As They Get Older: I Give All That The Cold Shoulder.

In Times When Nothing Stood But Worsened, Or Grew Strange, There Was One Constant Good: She Did Not Change.