Love Isn't Blind; It's Only Love That

We Have These Instincts Which Defy All Our Wisdom And For Which We Never Can Frame Any Laws. ... They Are Powers Which Are Imperfectly Developed In This Life, But One Cannot Help The Thought That The Mystery Of This World May Be The Commonplace Of The Next.

If You Don't Keep And Guard And Mature Your Force, And Above All, Have Time And Quiet To Perfect Your Work, You Will Be Writing Things Not Much Better Than You Did Five Years Ago. ... You Must Write To The Human Heart, The Great Consciousness That All Humanity Goes To Make Up. Otherwise What Might Be Strength In A Writer Is Only Crudeness, And What Might Be Insight Is Only Observation; Sentimemnt Falls To Sentimentality - You Can Write About Life, But Never Write Life Itself.

To Let God Make Us, Instead Of Painfully Trying To Make Ourselves; To Follow The Path That His Love Shows Us, Instead Of Through Conceit Or Cowardice Or Mockery Choosing Another; To Trust Him For Our Strength And Fitness As The Flowers Do, Simply Giving Ourselves Back To Him In Grateful Service,—this Is To Keep The Laws That Give Us The Freedom Of The City In Which There Is No Longer Any Night Of Bewilderment Or Ignorance Or Uncertainty.

So We Die Before Our Own Eyes; So We See Some Chapters Of Our Lives Come To Their Natural End.

I've Got 's Much Feelin' As The Next One, But When Folks Drives In Their Spiggits And Wants To Draw A Bucketful O' Compassion Every Day Right Straight Along, There Does Come Times When It Seems As If The Bar'l Was Getting Low.