Imagination, Which Is A Quality Writers Must

I've Seen It Before. There Are Women Who Spread Ruin Through No Fault Of Theirs, Just By Being Too Beautiful, Too Ful Of Life And Love. They Can't Help It. Poeple Come To Them As People Go To A Warm Fire In Winter.

The Trouble Is You Almost Have To Marry A Man Before You Can Find Out The Sort Of Wife He Needs; And Usually It's Exactly The Sort You Are Not.

In New Mexico, He Always Awoke A Young Man, Not Until He Arose And Began To Shave Did He Realize That He Was Growing Older. His First Consciousness Was A Sense Of The Light Dry Wind Blowing In Through The Windows, With The Fragrance Of Hot Sun And Sage-brush And Sweet Clover; A Wind That Made One's Body Feel Light And One's Heart Cry 'to-day, To-day,' Like A Child's.

I Suppose There Were Moonless Nights And Dark Ones With But A Silver Shaving And Pale Stars In The Sky, But I Remember Them All As Flooded With The Rich Indolence Of A Full Moon.

One Cannot Divine Nor Forecast The Conditions That Will Make Happiness; One Only Stumbles Upon Them By Chance, In A Lucky Hour, At The World's End Somewhere, And Hold Fast To The Days.