Women Want Love To Be A Novel,

…you Guessed That Somewhere, In Heaven Knew What Country And What Guise, There Was Someone Who Was Part Of Your Body And Your Brain, And That Without Him You Were Lost, A Straw Blown By The Wind.

We're Not Meant For Happiness, You And I.

They Are Not Brave, The Days When We Are Twenty-one. They Are Full Of Little Cowardices, Little Fears Without Foundation, And One Is So Easily Bruised, So Swiftly Wounded, One Falls To The First Barbed Word. To-day, Wrapped In The Complacent Armour Of Approaching Middle Age, The Infinitesimal Pricks Of Day By Day Brush One But Lightly And Are Soon Forgotten, But Then—how A Careless Word Would Linger, Becoming A Fiery Stigma, And How A Look, A Glance Over A Shoulder, Branded Themselves As Things Eternal.

But Luxury Has Never Appealed To Me, I Like Simple Things, Books, Being Alone, Or With Somebody Who Understands.

She Knew That This Was Happiness, This Was Living As She Had Always Wished To Live.