When One Is Writing A Novel In

Will You Look Into My Eyes And Tell Me That You Love Me Now?

I Have No Talent For Making New Friends, But Oh Such Genius For Fidelity To Old Ones.

When The Leaves Rustle, They Sound Very Much Like The Stealthy Movement Of A Woman In Evening Dress, And When They Shiver Suddenly, And Fall, And Scatter Away Along The Ground, They Might Be The Patter Of A Woman’s Hurrying Footsteps, And The Mark In The Gravel The Imprint Of A High-heeled Shoe.

But I Have Had Enough Melodrama In This Life, And Would Willingly Give My Five Senses If They Could Ensure Us Our Present Peace And Security. Happiness Is Not A Possession To Be Prized, It Is A Quality Of Thought, A State Of Mind. Of Course We Have Our Moments Of Depression; But There Are Other Moments Too, When Time, Unmeasured By The Clock, Runs On Into Eternity And, Catching His Smile, I Know We Are Together, We March In Unison, No Flash Of Thought Or Opinion Makes A Barrier Between Us.

A Dreamer, I Walked Enchanted, And Nothing Held Me Back.