Even The Contemplative Life Is Only An

I Talk Too Much Because I Have Been Made So Miserable By What You Are Keeping Hushed.

The Very Condition Of Woman Is So Subject To Hazard, So Complex, And So Grievous, That To Place Her At One Moment Is But To Displace Her At The Next.

Life Is Not To Be Told, Call It As Loud As You Like, It Will Not Tell Itself.

Our Bones Ache Only While The Flesh Is On Them. Stretch It As Thin As The Temple Flesh Of An Ailing Woman And Still It Serves To Ache The Bone And To Move The Bone About; And In Like Manner The Night Is A Skin Pulled Over The Head Of Day That The Day May Be In A Torment. We Will Find No Comfort Until The Night Melts Away; Until The Fury Of The Night Rots Out Its Fire.

Matthew,' She Said, 'have You Ever Loved Someone And It Became Yourself?' For A Moment He Did Not Answer. Taking Up The Decanter He Held It To The Light. 'robin Can Go Anywhere, Do Anything,' Nora Continued, 'because She Forgets, And I Nowhere Because I Remember.' She Came Toward Him. 'matthew,' She Said, 'you Think I Have Always Been Like This. Once I Was Remorseless, But This Is Another Love — It Goes Everywhere; There Is No Place For It To Stop — It Rots Me Away.