Tiresome Heart, Forever Living And Dying, House

Life Is A Quest And Love A Quarrel

I Know I Am But Summer To Your Heart, And Not The Full Four Seasons Of The Year.

We Are All Ruled In What We Do By Impulses; And These Impulses Are So Organized That Our Actions In General Serve For Our Self Preservation And That Of The Race.

That Which Has Quelled Me, Lives With Me, Accomplice In Catastrophe.

You Wrote Me A Beautiful Letter, I Wonder If You Meant It To Be As Beautiful As It Was. I Think You Did; For Somehow I Know That Your Feeling For Me, However Slight It Is, Is Of The Nature Of Love... When You Tell Me To Come, I Will Come, By The Next Train, Just As I Am. This Is Not Meekness, Be Assured; I Do Not Come Naturally By Meekness; Know That It Is A Proud Surrender To You.