How Little We Know Of What There

Write The Story, Take Out All The Good Lines, And See If It Still Works.

Humility Is Not Disgraceful, And Carries No Loss Of True Pride.

Don't You Like To Write Letters? I Do Because It's Such A Swell Way To Keep From Working And Yet Feel You've Done Something.

I'm Tired Of Everybody. Please Forgive Me.

You Expected To Be Sad In The Fall. Part Of You Died Each Year When The Leaves Fell From The Trees And Their Branches Were Bare Against The Wind And The Cold, Wintery Light. But You Knew There Would Always Be The Spring, As You Knew The River Would Flow Again After It Was Frozen. When The Cold Rains Kept On And Killed The Spring, It Was As Though A Young Person Died For No Reason.