The Lady: a fluty voice, sensible shoes, a melancholy sense of living by rules few still remember.
Children enjoy inflicting pain until unhappiness teaches them tenderness.
My self-absorption warms me; yours boils me.
Health can be squandered, but not stored up.
I do not remember joy or sorrow in childhood, but listening for clues.
The writer is always courted by invitations from the all-too- familiar.