What A Woman Thinks Of Women Is

The Most Dire Disaster In Love Is The Death Of Imagination.

Full Lasting Is The Song, Though He, / The Singer, Passes.

Earth Knows No Desolation. She Smells Regeneration In The Moist Breath Of Decay.

Darker Grows The Valley, More And More Forgetting: So Were It With Me If Forgetting Could Be Willed. Tell The Grassy Hollow That Holds The Bubbling Well-spring, Tell It To Forget The Source That Keeps It Filled.

We Never Know What's In Us Till We Stand By Ourselves.