Watch That Boy. He's Going To Startle

I Thought Of All Those Heroines Of Fiction Who Looked Pretty When They Cried, And What A Contrast I Must Make With A Blotched And Swollen Face, And Red Rims To My Eyes.

...the Routine Of Life Goes On, Whatever Happens, We Do The Same Things, Go Through The Little Performance Of Eating, Sleeping, Washing. No Crisis Can Break Through The Crust Of Habit.

All Autobiography Is Self-indulgent.

People Who Mattered Could Not Take The Humdrum World. But This Was Not The World, It Was Enchantment; And All Of It Was Mine.

Here Was The Freedom I Desired, Long Sought-for, Not Yet Known Freedom To Write, To Walk, To Wander, Freedom To Climb Hills, To Pull A Boat, To Be Alone.