People Always Think The Bread Of Another

In A Few Hours One Could Cover That Incalculable Distance; From The Winter Country And Homely Neighbours, To The City Where The Air Trembled Like A Tuning-fork With Unimaginable Possibilities.

Now I Understood That The Same Road Was To Bring Us Together Again. Whatever We Had Missed, We Possessed Together The Precious, The Incommunicable Past.

I Don't Want Anyone Reading My Writing To Think About Style. I Just Want Them To Be In The Story.

In Haverford On The Platte The Townspeople Still Talk Of Lucy Gayheart.

I Wondered If The Life That Was Right For One Was Ever Right For Two!