Can't All Beasts Be Tamed?

Roses Are For Love. Not Silly Sweet-hearts' Love But The Love That Makes You And Keeps You Whole, Love That Gets You Through The Worst Your Life'll Give You And That Pours Out Of You When You're Given The Best Instead.

She Poured The Water, Arranged Some Bread Near Enough The Embers To Scorch But Not Catch Fire, And Looked Up At Little John. She Was So Accustomed To His Step, To His Bulk, That It Took A Moment To Notice His Face; And When She Did . . . It Was, She Thought, Rather Like The Moment It Took To Realize One Had Cut One's Finger As One Stared Dumbly At The First Drop Of Blood On The Knife-blade. You Know It Is Going To Hurt Quite A Lot In A Minute.

Mice Are Terribly Chatty. They Will Chat About Anything, And If There Is Nothing To Chat About, They Will Chat About Having Nothing To Chat About. Compared To Mice, Robins Are Reserved.

Betrayal Would Be A Different Sort Of Sick.

I Get A Little Cranky With The Whole Business About Kids Not Having Attention Spans. This Reminds Me Of The Usual Business Of Thinking That The Next Generation Is Hopeless. Every Generation Has Said That About Every Younger Generation.