I Write This Sitting In The Kitchen

Am I Really Admitting That My Sister Is Determined To Marry A Man She Has Only Seen Once And Doesn't Much Like The Look Of? It Is Half Real And Half Pretense - And I Have An Idea That It Is A Game Most Girls Play When They Meet An Eligible Young Men. They Just...wonder.

And Who Says You Always Have To Understand Things? You Can Like Them Without Understanding Them -- Like 'em Better Sometimes.

He Stood Staring Into The Wood For A Minute, Then Said: "what Is It About The English Countryside — Why Is The Beauty So Much More Than Visual? Why Does It Touch One So?" He Sounded Faintly Sad. Perhaps He Finds Beauty Saddening — I Do Myself Sometimes. Once When I Was Quite Little I Asked Father Why This Was And He Explained That It Was Due To Our Knowledge Of Beauty's Evanescence, Which Reminds Us That We Ourselves Shall Die. Then He Said I Was Probably Too Young To Understand Him; But I Understood Perfectly.

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.

Wakings Are The Worst Times--almost Before My Eyes Are Open A Great Weight Seems To Roll On My Heart.