What Was Past Was Past. I Suppose

Judgment Is Contained In The Act Of Trying To Understand.

It Was A Good Place For Getting Lost In, A City No One Ever Knew, A City Explored From The Neutral Heart Outward, Until After Many Years, It Defined Itself Into A Jumble Of Clearings Separated By Stretches Of The Unknown, Through Which The Narrowest Of Paths Had Been Cut.

I Read A Piece Of Writing And Within A Paragraph Or Two I Know Whether It Is By A Woman Or Not.

Men Need History; It Helps Them To Have An Idea Of Who They Are. But History, Like Sanctity, Can Reside In The Heart; It Is Enough That There Is Something There.

I Still Think It's Really Quite Wonderful When I Read A Sentence Of Mine And It Has That Quality Of Lastingness.