People Who Travel Are Always Fugitives.

Look On Each Day That Comes As A Challenge, As A Test Of Courage. The Pain Will Come In Waves, Some Days Worse Than Others, For No Apparent Reason. Accept The Pain. Little By Little, You Will Find New Strength, New Vision, Born Of The Very Pain And Loneliness Which Seem, At First, Impossible To Master.

She Knew That This Was Happiness, This Was Living As She Had Always Wished To Live.

They Are Not Brave, The Days When We Are Twenty-one. They Are Full Of Little Cowardices, Little Fears Without Foundation, And One Is So Easily Bruised, So Swiftly Wounded, One Falls To The First Barbed Word. To-day, Wrapped In The Complacent Armour Of Approaching Middle Age, The Infinitesimal Pricks Of Day By Day Brush One But Lightly And Are Soon Forgotten, But Then—how A Careless Word Would Linger, Becoming A Fiery Stigma, And How A Look, A Glance Over A Shoulder, Branded Themselves As Things Eternal.

…you Guessed That Somewhere, In Heaven Knew What Country And What Guise, There Was Someone Who Was Part Of Your Body And Your Brain, And That Without Him You Were Lost, A Straw Blown By The Wind.

Nothing Like A Cup Of Tea To Make A Person Feel Better, Man Or Woman.