A Book Is More Than The Sum

I Had Been Afraid Of Breast Cancer, As I Suspect Most Women Are, From The Time I Hit Adolescence. At That Age, When Our Emerging Sexuality Is Our Central Preoccupation, The Idea Of Disfigurement Of A Breast Is Particularly Horrifying.

God Warns Us Not To Love Any Earthly Thing Above Himself, And Yet He Sets In A Mother's Heart Such A Fierce Passion For Her Babes That I Do Not Comprehend How He Can Test Us So.

The Brave Man, The Real Hero, Quakes With Terror, Sweats, Feels His Very Bowels Betray Him, And In Spite Of This Moves Forward To Do The Act He Dreads.

If A Man Is To Lose His Fortune, It Is A Good Thing If He Were Poor Before He Acquired It, For Poverty Requires Aptitude.

All The Times, All The Very Many Times, I Had Been Forced To Thwart And Stifle My Own Nature Seemed To Gather Together Then, In That Hot And Dismal Corridor. I Heard A Rushing Sound In My Head And Felt A Pressure In My Breast, Like Floodwaters Rising Behind A Flimsy Dike. Before I Knew I Did It, The Soup Bowl Was Rising In My Hand As If Elevated By Some Supernatural Force. Then, Its Yellow-gray Contents Were Running Down The Nurse's Pudgy Face.