Is it as plainly in our living shown, By which way the wind hath blown?

My object to venture the suggestion that an important application of phonetics to metrical problems lies in the study of phonetic word-structure.

Listen ... With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break free from the trees And fall.

These be Three silent things: The Falling snow. . . the hour Before the dawn. . . the mouth of one Just dead.

Sun and wind and beat of sea, Great lands stretching endlessly... Where be bonds to bind the free? All the world was made for me!

The oldOld winds that blewWhen chaos was, what doThey tell the clattered trees that IShould weep?

I knowNot these my handsAnd yet I think there wasA woman like me once had handsLike these.

Pain ebbs, And like cool balm, An opiate weariness Settles on eye-lids, on relaxed Pale wrists.

If itWere lighter touchThan petal of flower restingOn grass, oh still too heavy it were, Too heavy!

Thou hast Drawn laughter from A well of secret tears And thence so elvish it rings, -mocking And sweet.

The old Old winds that blew When chaos was, what do They tell the clattered trees that I Should weep?

Happy 3rd anniversary Navigating Life's Roadways!This book is a charge and blessing from above. Writing it has been on my radar for a while.

A love so true, so consuming, so good.

The dictum that truth always triumphs over persecution is one of the pleasant falsehoods which men repeat after one another till they pass into commonplaces, but which all experience refutes.

That freedom can never be attained by a nation without suffering and sacrifice has been amply borne out by the recent tragic happenings in this subcontinent.

It is said that the camera cannot lie, but rarely do we allow it to do anything else, since the camera sees what you point it at: the camera sees what you want it to see.

You had to pick up a landline to make sure your best friend wore a matching outfit to school. I do remember people talking more. Nostalgia is dangerous, though.

Denial: my family heritage. If you don't ask the questions, the truth will never inconvenience you.

My mother raised me to be a writer.

I see things like they've never been seen before. Art is an accurate statement of the time in which it is made.

I was young. I was newly married. And I had worked like a dog. I just wanted to live and travel.