And What Does Anyone Know About Traitors,

I Have Tried," I Said, "but He Does Not Believe Me. It Is Too Late For That Now" (it Is Always Too Late For Truth, I Thought).

The Woman Had A Humble, Cringing Manner. Of Course, She Had Discovered That, Having Neither Money Nor Virtue, She Had Better Be Humble If She Knew What Was Good For Her.

Before I Could Read, Almost A Baby, I Imagined That God, This Strange Thing Or Person I Heard About, Was A Book.

The Feeling Of Sunday Is The Same Everywhere, Heavy, Melancholy, Standing Still.

When You Are A Child You Are Yourself And You Know And See Everything Prophetically. And Then Suddenly Something Happens And You Stop Being Yourself; You Become What Others Force You To Be. You Lose Your Wisdom And Your Soul.