I Am In The Position Of Judging

In A Way, Her Strangeness, Her Naiveté, Her Craving For The Other Half Of Her Equation Was The Consequence Of An Idle Imagination. Had She Paints, Or Clay, Or Knew The Discipline Of The Dance, Or Strings, Had She Anything To Engage Her Tremendous Curiosity And Her Gift For Metaphor, She Might Have Exchanged The Restlessness And Preoccupation With Whim For An Activity That Provided Her With All She Yearned For. And Like An Artist With No Art Form, She Became Dangerous.

I Like Marriage. The Idea.

When There Is Pain, There Are No Words. All Pain Is The Same.

But To Find Out The Truth About How Dreams Die, One Should Never Take The Word Of The Dreamer.

...the Change Was Adjustment Without Improvement.