Still, the sun was hot. Still, one got over things. Still, life had a way of adding day to day

A self that goes on changing is a self that goes on living.

Men felt a chill in their hearts; a damp in their minds. In a desperate effort to snuggle their feelings into some sort of warmth,one subterfuge was tried after anothersentences swelled, adjectives multiplied, lyrics became epics.

I see through most people; I'm hardly ever wrong. I see at once what they've got in them.

To evade such temptations is the first duty of the poet. For as the ear is the antechamber to the soul, poetry can adulterate and destroy more surely then lust or gunpowder. The poet's, then, is the highest office of all. His words reach where others fall short. A silly song of Shakespeare's has done more for the poor and the wicked than all the preachers and philanthropists in the world.

For nothing was simply one thing.

And again she felt alone in the presence of her old antagonist, life.