People Who Travel Are Always Fugitives.

We're Not Meant For Happiness, You And I.

Jem Was Safe From Her, And He Would Ride Away With A Song On His Lips And A Laugh At Her Expense, Forgetful Of Her, And Of His Brother, And Of God; While She Dragged Through The Years, Sullen And Bitter, The Stain Of Silence Marking Her, Coming In The End To Ridicule As A Soured Spinster Who Had Been Kissed Once In Her Life And Could Not Forget It.

Every Moment Was A Precious Thing, Having In It The Essence Of Finality.

This House Sheltered Us, We Spoke, We Loved Within Those Walls. That Was Yesterday. To-day We Pass On, We See It No More, And We Are Different, Changed In Some Infinitesimal Way. We Can Never Be Quite The Same Again.

A Familiar Name On Its Own, However, Does Not Carry Its Bearer Far Unless The Talent Is There, And The Will To Work.