So This Is Where The Years Of

Nothing She Did Or Said Was Quite What She Meant But Still Her Life Could Be Called A Monument Shaped In A Slant Of Available Light And Set To The Movement Of Possible Music

Bookish People, Who Are Often Maladroit People, Persist In Thinking They Can Master Any Subtlety So Long As It's Been Shaped Into Acceptable Expository Prose.

Our Friendship Is Made Up Of These Brief Frenzied Exchanges, But The Quality Of Our Conversation, For All Its Feverish Outpouring, Is Genuine.

There Are Chapters In Every Life Which Are Seldom Read And Certainly Not Aloud.

The Scolding Voice Is Her Own, So Abrasive And Quick, Yet So Powerless To Move Her.