Women Want Love To Be A Novel,

All Whispers And Echoes From A Past That Is Gone Teem Into The Sleeper's Brain, And He Is With Them, And Part Of Them.

...as The Slow Sea Sucked At The Shore And Then Withdrew, Leaving The Strip Of Seaweed Bare And The Shingle Churned, The Sea Birds Raced And Ran Upon The Beaches. Then That Same Impulse To Flight Seized Upon Them Too. Crying, Whistling, Calling, They Skimmed The Placid Sea And Left The Shore. Make Haste, Make Speed, Hurry And Begone; Yet Where, And To What Purpose? The Restless Urge Of Autumn, Unsatisfying, Sad, Had Put A Spell Upon Them And They Must Flock, And Wheel, And Cry; They Must Spill Themselves Of Motion Before Winter Came.

Life And Death Do Not Wait For Legal Action.

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

Every Moment Was A Precious Thing, Having In It The Essence Of Finality.