Youth, Art, Love, Dreams, True-heartedness - Why

People Live Through Such Pain Only Once. Pain Comes Again—but It Finds A Tougher Surface.

He Domesticated And Developed The Native Wild Flowers. He Had One Hill-side Solidly Clad With That Low-growing Purple Verbena Which Mats Over The Hills Of New Mexico. It Was Like A Great Violet Velvet Mantle Thrown Down In The Sun; All The Shades That The Dyers And Weavers Of Italy And France Strove For Through Centuries, The Violet That Is Full Of Rose Colour And Is Yet Not Lavender; The Blue That Becomes Almost Pink And Then Retreats Again Into Sea-dark Purple—the True Episcopal Colour And Countless Variations Of It.

It Does Not Matter Much Whom We Live With In This World, But It Matters A Great Deal Whom We Dream Of.

All The Intelligence And Talent In The World Can't Make A Singer. The Voice Is A Wild Thing. It Can't Be Bred In Captivity. It Is A Sport, Like The Silver Fox. It Happens.

"more Than Him Has Done That," Said Antonia Sadly, And The Girls Murmured Assent.