I didn't know what I was doing in New York.

The floor seemed wonderfully solid. It was comforting to know I had fallen and could fall no farther.

Well, I know now. I know a little more how much a simple thing like a snowfall can mean to a person

I, love, I am the pure acetylene virgin attended by roses.

The more hopeless you were, the further away they hid you.

Today is the first of August. It is hot, steamy and wet. It is raining. I am tempted to write a poem. But I remember what it said on one rejection slip: 'After a heavy rainfall, poems titled 'Rain' pour in from across the nation.

I didn't know shorthand either. This meant I couldn't get a good job after college. My mother kept telling me nobody wanted a plain English major. But an English major who knew shorthand would be something else again. Everybody would want her. She would be in demand among all the up-and-coming young men and she would transcribe letter after thrilling letter. The trouble was, I hated the idea of serving men in any way. I wanted to dictate my own thrilling letters.