Death Steals Everything Except Our Stories.

Dad Said I Would Always Be "high Minded And Low Waged" From Reading Too Much Ralph Waldo Emerson. Maybe He Was Right.

Writing As A Woman Presents Enormous Problems But I Have Attempted It Several Times And Haven't Had Many Complaints.

That Is Simply The Most Beautiful Publishing Office In The World, With That Cranky Old Building In That Wonderful Park.

This Infantile Sense Of Order Tended To Infect My Life At Large. Up At 5:30 A.m., Coffee, Oatmeal, Perhaps Sausage (homemade), And Fresh Eggs Giving One Of The Yolks To Lola. Listening To Npr And Grieving More Recently Over The Absence Of Bob Edwards Who Was The Sound Of Morning As Surely As Birds. Reading A Paragraph Or Two Of Emerson Or Loren Eiseley To Raise The Level Of My Thinking. Going Out To Feed The Cattle If It Was During Our Six Months Of Bad Weather.

No One Else Can Hold Your Hand Or Take This Voyage Of The Soul For You.