Life Is A Quest And Love A

When You Publish Something, It Is Very Much As If You Pulled Your Pants Down In Public. If What You Have Written Is Good, Nobody Can Hurt You; If What You Have Written Is Bad, Nobody Can Help You.

If I Love You Wednesday, What Is That To You? I Do Not Love You Thursday - So Much Is True.

I Dread No More The First White In My Hair, Or Even Age Itself, The Easy Shoe, The Cane, The Wrinkled Hands, The Special Chair: Time, Doing This To Me, May Alter Too My Anguish, Into Something I Can Bear

But Far, Oh, Far As Passionate Eye Can Reach, And Long, Ah, Long As Rapturous Eye Can Cling, The World Is Mine: Blue Hill, Still Silver Lake, Broad Field, Bright Flower, And The Long White Road A Gateless Garden, And An Open Path: My Feet To Follow, And My Heart To Hold.

For My Omniscience Paid I Toll In Infinite Remorse Of Soul. All Sin Was Of My Sinning, All Atoning Mine, And Mine The Gall Of All Regret. Mine Was The Weight Of Every Brooded Wrong, The Hate That Stood Behind Each Envious Thrust, Mine Every Greed, Mine Every Lust. And All The While For Every Grief, Each Suffering, I Craved Relief With Individual Desire, – Craved All In Vain! And Felt Fierce Fire About A Thousand People Crawl; Perished With Each, — Then Mourned For All!