The Voice Of The Sea Speaks To

I'm Going To Pull Myself Together For A While And Think-try To Determine What Character Of A Woman I Am; For, Candidly, I Don't Know. By All The Codes Which I Am Acquainted With, I Am A Devilishly Wicked Specimen Of The Sex. But Some Way I Can't Convince Myself That I Am. I Must Think About It.

Madame Ratignolle Hoped That Robert Would Exercise Extreme Caution In Dealing With The Mexicans, Who, She Considered, Were A Treacherous People, Unscrupulous And Revengeful. She Trusted She Did Them No Injustice In Thus Condemning Them As A Race. She Had Known Personally But One Mexican, Who Made And Sold Excellent Tamales, And Whom She Would Have Trusted Implicitly, So Soft-spoken Was He. One Day He Was Arrested For Stabbing His Wife. She Never Knew Whether He Had Been Hanged Or Not.

She Looked Into The Distance, And The Old Terror Flamed Up For An Instant, Then Sank Again. Edna Heard Her Father's Voice And Her Sister Margaret's. She Heard The Barking Of An Old Dog That Was Chained To The Sycamore Tree. The Spurs Of The Cavalry Officer Clanged As He Walked Across The Porch. There Was The Hum Of Bees, And The Musky Odor Of Pinks Filled The Air. (last Lines)

To Be An Artist Includes Much; One Must Possess Many Gifts - Absolute Gifts - Which Have Not Been Acquired By One's Own Effort. And, Moreover, To Succeed, The Artist Much Possess The Courageous Soul.

There Are Some People Who Leave Impressions Not So Lasting As The Imprint Of An Oar Upon The Water.