We Say Of Some Things That They

One Drop Of Hatred In Your Soul Will Spread And Discolor Everything Like A Drop Of Black Ink In White Milk.

If I Decided To Send This To You, Where Would I Send It? When I Think Of Writing The Whole Address On The Envelope I Am Paralyzed. It's Too Painful To Think Of You In The Same Place With Your Life Going On In The Same Way, Minus Me. And To Think Of You Not There, You Somewhere Else But I Don't Know Where That Is, Is Worse.

What She Wants To Do If She Can Get The Time To Do It, Is Not So Much To Live In The Past As To Open It Up And Get One Good Look At It".

For Years And Years I Thought That Stories Were Just Practice, Till I Got Time To Write A Novel.

She Sits In Her Usual Ample Armchair, With Piles Of Books And Unopened Magazines Around Her. She Sips Cautiously From The Mug Of Weak Herb Tea Which Is Now Her Substitute For Coffee. At One Time She Thought That She Could Not Live Without Coffee, But It Turned Out That It Is Really The Warm Large Mug She Wants In Her Hands, That Is The Aid To Thought Or Whatever It Is She Practices Through The Procession Of Hours, Or Of Days.