I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.

Ever since I was small I loved feeling somebody comb my hair. It made me go all sleepy & peaceful.

I am sure there are things that can't be cured by a good bath but I can't think of one.

I think the coming of spring, the stars overhead, the first snowfall and so on are gifts for a child, a young poet.

I felt dull and flat and full of shattered visions.

I felt overstuffed and dull and disappointed, the way I always do the day after Christmas, as if whatever it was the pine boughs and the candles and the silver and gilt-ribboned presents and the birch-log fires and the Christmas turkey and the carols at the piano promised never came to pass.

You know what lies are for.