A Burnt Dog Dreads The Fire.

Oh, That's The Beauty Of The Rose, That It Blossoms And Dies.

Life Began For Me, When I Ceased To Admire And Began To Remember.

I Like Trees Because They Seem More Resigned To The Way They Have To Live Than Other Things Do. I Feel As If This Tree Knows Everything I Ever Think Of When I Sit Here. When I Come Back To It, I Never Have To Remind It Of Anything; I Begin Just Where I Left Off.

I First Met Myra Henshawe When I Was Fifteen, But I Had Known Her About Ever Since I Could Remember Anything At All.

Even The Wicked Get Worse Than They Deserve.