Only The Margin Left To Write On

We Were Restless For Ages...after A While I Heard An Owl Hooting And Calmed Myself By Thinking Of It Flying Over The Dark Fields – And Then I Remembered It Would Be Pouncing On Mice. I Love Owls, But I Wish God Had Made Them Vegetarian.

I Wanted So Terribly To Be Good To Him.

Only Half A Page Left Now. Shall I Fill It With 'i Love You, I Love You'-- Like Father's Page Of Cats On The Mat? No. Even A Broken Heart Doesn't Warrant A Waste Of Good Paper.

He Stood Staring Into The Wood For A Minute, Then Said: "what Is It About The English Countryside — Why Is The Beauty So Much More Than Visual? Why Does It Touch One So?" He Sounded Faintly Sad. Perhaps He Finds Beauty Saddening — I Do Myself Sometimes. Once When I Was Quite Little I Asked Father Why This Was And He Explained That It Was Due To Our Knowledge Of Beauty's Evanescence, Which Reminds Us That We Ourselves Shall Die. Then He Said I Was Probably Too Young To Understand Him; But I Understood Perfectly.

And Who Says You Always Have To Understand Things? You Can Like Them Without Understanding Them -- Like 'em Better Sometimes.