Now He Understood. This Was Death. Death

Living Was No Longer The Grief Behind Him, But The Anxiety Ahead.

The Best Fish In The World Are Of Course Those One Catches Oneself.

Sift Each Of Us Through The Great Sieve Of Circumstance And You Have A Residue, Great Or Small As The Case May Be, That Is The Man Or The Woman.

Sorrow Was Like The Wind. It Came In Gusts.

The Individual Man Is Transitory, But The Pulse Of Life And Of Growth Goes On After He Is Gone, Buried Under A Wreath Of Magnolia Leaves.