Happiness, it has been observed, is best achieved by those who have been most unhappy heretofore.
Happiness when sustained too long in print can rightly be construed as sappiness...
I glanced out the window at the signs of spring. The sky was almost blue, the trees were almost budding, the sun was almost bright.
She wrote poetry constantly; that was her "work". She was a slow bleeder and she slaved over it for long, exhausting hours, and many a middle of a night I could hear her creaking around the dead house with a pen in one hand, a clipboard and a flashli...
