In This World People Have To Pay

In Great Misfortunes, People Want To Be Alone. They Have A Right To Be. And The Misfortunes That Occur Within One Are The Greatest. Surely The Saddest Thing In The World Is Falling Out Of Love--if Once One Has Ever Fallen In.

Oh, That's The Beauty Of The Rose, That It Blossoms And Dies.

The Irregular And Intimate Quality Of Things Made Entirely By The Human Hand.

Religion And Art Spring From The Same Root And Are Close Kin.

Every Individual Taste, Every Natural Appetite, Was Bridled By Caution. The People Asleep In Those Houses, I Thought, Tried To Live Like The Mice In Their Own Kitchens; To Make No Noise, To Leave No Trace, To Slip Over The Surface Of Things In The Dark.