That Is Happiness; To Be Dissolved Into

New Things Are Always Ugly.

In New Mexico, He Always Awoke A Young Man, Not Until He Arose And Began To Shave Did He Realize That He Was Growing Older. His First Consciousness Was A Sense Of The Light Dry Wind Blowing In Through The Windows, With The Fragrance Of Hot Sun And Sage-brush And Sweet Clover; A Wind That Made One's Body Feel Light And One's Heart Cry 'to-day, To-day,' Like A Child's.

If There Were No Girls Like Them In The World, There Would Be No Poetry

The Trees And Shrubbery Seemed Well-groomed And Social, Like Pleasant People.

The World Is Little, People Are Little, Human Life Is Little. There Is Only One Big Thing — Desire.