She Did As She Felt, And She

Only People Unhappy In The Present Seek To Know The Future.

You Make A Life Out Of What You Have, Not What You're Missing.

She Was The Breeze On A Summer's Day, The First Drops Of Rain When The Earth Was Parched, Light From The Evening Star.

All True Readers Have A Book, A Moment When Real Life Is Never Going To Be Able To Compete With Fiction Again.

Hope, How She Had Grown To Hate The Word. It Was An Insideious Seed Planted Inside A Person's Soul, Surviving Covertly On Little Tending, Then Flowering So Spectacularly That None Could Help But Cherish It.