And Love Was Creation's Source,creation's Ruler; But

I Love Three Things," I Then Say. "i Love A Dream Of Love I Once Had, I Love You, And I Love This Patch Of Earth." "and Which Do You Love Best?" "the Dream.

Love Is Every Bit As Violent And Dangerous As Murder.

Heaven Knows That There Are Plenty Of Opportunities In Later Life, Too, For Being Carried Away. What Of It? We Remain What We Are And, No Doubt, It Is All Very Good For Us!

A Few Days Back Someone Sent Me Two Feathers. Two Bird's Feathers In A Sheet Of Note-paper With A Coronet, And Fastened With A Seal. Sent From A Place A Long Way Off; From One Who Need Not Have Sent Them Back At All. That Amused Me Too, Those Devilish Green Feathers.

The Writer Must Be Able To Revel And Roll In The Abundance Of Words; He Must Know Not Only The Direct But Also The Secret Power Of A Word. There Are Overtones And Undertones To A Word, And Lateral Echoes, Too.