To Note An Artist's Limitations Is But

In A Few Hours One Could Cover That Incalculable Distance; From The Winter Country And Homely Neighbours, To The City Where The Air Trembled Like A Tuning-fork With Unimaginable Possibilities.

Love Itself Draws On A Woman Nearly All The Bad Luck In The World

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.

Youth, When It Is Hurt, Likes To Feel Itself Betrayed.

In Haverford On The Platte The Townspeople Still Talk Of Lucy Gayheart.