It Is A Strange Thing To Read

I Hate To Lend A Book I Love...it Never Seems Quite The Same When It Comes Back To Me.

It Is A Strange Thing To Read A Letter After The Writer Is Dead - A Bitter-sweet Thing, In Which Pain And Comfort Are Strangely Mingled.

I Suppose All This Sounds Very Crazy — All These Terrible Emotions Always Do Sound Foolish When We Put Them Into Our Inadequate Words. They Are Not Meant To Be Spoken — Only Felt And Endured.

But She Had Long Ago Learned That When She Wandered Into The Realm Of Fancy She Must Go Alone. The Way To It Was By An Enchanted Path Where Not Even Her Dearest Might Follow Her.

Isn't It Better To Have Your Heart Broken Than To Have It Wither Up? Before It Could Be Broken It Must Have Felt Something Splendid. That Would Be Worth The Pain.