For a moment the radio wavered between stations and I was so busy making myself marvelous.
God have pity on the smell of gasoline which finds its way like an arm through a car window, more human than kerosene, more unctuous, more manly.
My heart is small, like a love of buttons or black pepper.
I might walk vast expanses of earth and always be beginning and I love beginning or could learn to love it.
