Life, Deal Gently With Her ... Love,

She Wanted To Be Alone - To Think Things Out - To Adjust Herself, If It Were Possible, To The New World In Which She Seemed To Have Been Transplanted With A Suddenness And Completeness That Left Her Half Bewildered To Her Own Identity.

It Was Rapture Enough Just To Sit There Beside Him In Silence, Alone In The Summer Night In The White Splendor Of Moonshine, With The Wind Blowing Down On Them Out Of The Pine Woods.

My Life Is A Perfect Graveyard Of Buried Hopes.

It Is A Strange Thing To Read A Letter After The Writer Is Dead - A Bitter-sweet Thing, In Which Pain And Comfort Are Strangely Mingled.

The Woods Are Never Solitary--they Are Full Of Whispering, Beckoning, Friendly Life. But The Sea Is A Mighty Soul, Forever Moaning Of Some Great, Unshareable Sorrow, Which Shuts It Up Into Itself For All Eternity.