You Can Take The Woman Outta The

The Puppet Thinks: It's Not So Much What They Make Me Do As Their Hands Inside Me.

Sculptors, Poets, Painters, Musicians-they're The Traditional Purveyors Of Beauty. But It Can As Easily Be Created By A Gardener, A Farmer, A Plumber, A Careworker.

I Don't Think The World Works On Merit.

She Knew This Music--knew It Down To The Very Core Of Her Being--but She Had Never Heard It Before. Unfamiliar, It Had Still Always Been There Inside Her, Waiting To Be Woken. It Grew From The Core Of Mystery That Gives A Secret Its Special Delight, Religion Its Awe. It Demanded To Be Accepted By Simple Faith, Not Dissected Or Questioned, And At The Same Time, It Begged To Be Doubted And Probed.

Even, She Thought, Even Without The Gift Of Witchsight, There Was More Beauty To Be Found In The World Than Could Ever Be Snared In Language Or Music. And With The Sight.