She Keeps On Hoping From A Word

The Story Fails But Your Faith In The Importance Of Doing The Story Doesn't Fail.

Every Year, When You're A Child, You Become A Different Person.

His Face Contained For Me All Possibilities Of Fierceness And Sweetness, Pride And Submissiveness, Violence, Self-containment. I Never Saw More In It Than I Had When I Saw It First, Because I Saw Everything Then. The Whole Thing In Him That I Was Going To Love, And Never Catch Or Explain.

What She Felt Was A Lighthearted Sort Of Compassion, Almost Like Laughter. A Swish Of Tender Hilarity, Getting The Better Of All Her Sores And Hollows, For The Time Given.

Writing Is Hard, But The More You Write, And Enjoy What You Write, The Better It Gets.