I Never Know Where I Am Going,

Genre Categories Are Irrelevant. I Dislike Them, But I Do Not Have The Casting Vote.

The Bitterness Of Joy Lies In The Knowledge That Is Cannot Last. Nor Should Joy Last Beyond A Certain Season, For, After That Season, Even Joy Would Become Merely Habit.

How Massively The Mountains Stand, While Low To The Ground The Sand Blows. The Sand Blows On And On. And Then There Are No Mountains, None At All, The Sand Has Kissed And Whispered Them Away. And Still, The Sand Blows On.

Oh, Love. Love Is Best Of All. There Is No Such Total Element, Not Even Pain. Who Has Ever Loved, Knows This. I Need Not Say More.

I Submitted Manuscripts To Publishers. This Was Not So Much A Feeling That I Should Be Published As A Wish To Escape The Feared And Hated Drudgery Of Normal Work.