A Woman Who Writes Feels Too Much.

In A Dream You Are Never Eighty.

Even Without Wars, Life Is Dangerous.

Take Your Foot Out Of The Graveyard, They Are Busy Being Dead.

Once I Was Beautiful. Now I Am Myself, Counting This Row And That Row Of Moccasins Waiting On The Silent Shelf.

Abundance Is Scooped From Abundance Yet Abundance Remains.