Our Beloved Ones Have Not 'gone To

Trying To Write Is Very Much Like Trying To Put A Chinese Puzzle Together. We Have A Pattern In Mind Which We Wish To Work Out In Words; But The Words Will Not Fit The Spaces, Or, If They Do, They Will Not Match The Design.

I Have Often Been Asked, Do Not People Bore You? I Do Not Understand Quite What That Means. I Suppose The Calls Of The Stupid And Curious, Especially Of Newspaper Reporters, Are Always Inopportune. I Also Dislike People Who Try To Talk Down To My Understanding. They Are Like People Who When Walking With You Try To Shorten Their Steps To Suit Yours; The Hypocrisy In Both Cases Is Equally Exasperating.

If I Write What My Soul Thinks It Will Be Visible, And The Words Will Be Its Body.

While The Right Friends Are Near Us, We Feel That All Is Well. Our Everyday Life Blossoms Suddenly Into Bright Possibilities.

My Share Of The Work May Be Limited, But The Fact That It Is Work Makes It Precious.