[emily] Dickinson, Our Supreme Poet Of Inwardness.

Night Comes To The Desert All At Once, As If Someone Turned Off The Light.

The Danger Of Motherhood. You Relive Your Early Self, Through The Eyes Of Your Mother.

She Thought That This Man Was Her Savior, That He Had Come To Her At A Time In Her Life When Her Life Demanded Completion, An End, A Permanent Fixing Of All That Was Troubled And Shifting And Deadly. And Yet It Was Absurd To Think This. No Person Could Save Another. So She Drew Back From Him And Released Him.

Not To Be Alone. To Be Spared The Possibility Of Knowing Oneself, In Aloneness.

Only When You Have Completed A Novel, Or A Story, Can You Return To The Beginning And Revise Or Rewrite.