Style is that which indicates how the writer takes himself and what he is saying. It is the mind skating circles around itself as it moves forward.

Being the boss anywhere is lonely. Being a female boss in a world of mostly men is especially so.

Friends make pretence of following to the grave but before one is in it, their minds are turned and making the best of their way back to life and living people and things they understand.

We ran as if to meet the moon.

He thought that I was after him for a feather--- The white one in his tail: like one who takes everything said as personal to himself.

Nobody was ever meant, To remember or invent, What he did with every cent.

Forgive me my nonsense, as I also forgive the nonsense of those that think they talk sense.