Ah, What Happiness It Is To Be

How Hard It Is To Escape From Places. However Carefully One Goes They Hold You — You Leave Little Bits Of Yourself Fluttering On The Fences — Like Rags And Shreds Of Your Very Life.

Looking Back, I Imagine I Was Always Writing. Twaddle It Was Too. But Better Far Write Twaddle Or Anything, Anything, Than Nothing At All.

I Don't Believe Other People Are Ever As Foolishly Excited As I Am While I'm Working. How Could They Be? Writers Would Have To Live In Trees.

You Are A Queen. Let Mine Be The Joy Of Giving You Your Kingdom.

Oh, How Quickly Things Changed! Why Didn't Happiness Last For Ever? For Ever Wasn't A Bit Too Long.