Would It Not Be Better To Have

The Writer, An Old Man With A White Moustache, Had Some Difficulty Getting Into Bed.

Her Thoughts Ran Away To Her Girlhood With Its Passionate Longing For Adventure And She Remembered The Arms Of Men That Had Held Her When Adventure Was A Possible Thing For Her. Particularly She Remembered One Who Had For A Time Been Her Lover And Who In The Moment Of His Passion Had Cried Out To Her More Than A Hundred Times, Saying The Same Words Madly Over And Over: "you Dear! You Dear! You Lovely Dear!" The Words, She Thought, Expressed Something She Would Have Liked To Have Achieved In Life.

You Can Make It All Right If You Will Only Be Satisfied To Remain Small," I Told Myself. I Had To Keep Saying It Over And Over To Myself. "be Little. Don't Try To Be Big. Work Under The Guns. Be A Little Worm In The Fair Apple Of Life.

Dare To Be Strong And Courageous. That Is The Road. Venture Anything. Be Brave Enough To Dare To Be Loved. Be Something More Than Man Or Woman. Be Tandy.

I Wanted To Run Away From Everything But I Wanted To Run Towards Something Too.