No Worse Fate Can Befall A Young

A Word Can Be Transformed Into A Coulour, Light, A Smell; It Is The Writer's Task To Use It In Such A Way That It Serves, Never Fails, Can Never Be Ignored.

There Are Some People Who Cannot Help Giving. Why? Because They Experience A Real Psychological Pleasure In Doing So. They Don't Do It With An Eye To Their Own Advantage, They Do It On The Quiet; They Detest Doing It Openly Because That Would Take Away Some Of The Satisfaction. They Do It In Secret, With Quick Trembling Hands, Their Breasts Rocked By A Spiritual Well Being Which They Do Not Themselves Understand.

I Love Three Things," I Then Say. "i Love A Dream Of Love I Once Had, I Love You, And I Love This Patch Of Earth." "and Which Do You Love Best?" "the Dream.

Earth And Sea Merged, The Sea Tossed Itself In The Air In A Fantastic Dance, Into The Shapes Of Men And Horses And Tattered Banners. I Stood In The Lee Of An Overhanging Rock And Thought Of Many Things.

The Whisper Of The Blood And The Pleading Of The Bone Marrow.