A Loss Of Sensibility Follows A Loss

People's Clothes Ought To Be Buried With Them.

Only The Margin Left To Write On Now. I Love You, I Love You, I Love You.

I Have Really Sinned. I Am Going To Pause Now, And Sit Here On The Mound Repenting In Deepest Shame.

I Could Hear Rain Still Pouring From The Gutters And A Thin Branch Scraping Against One Of The Windows; But The Church Seemed Completely Cut Off From The Restless Day Outside--just As I Felt Cut Off From The Church. I Thought: I Am A Restlessness Inside A Stillness Inside A Restlessness.

How I Wish I Lived In A Jane Austen Novel!