The Constant Happiness Is Curiosity.

As A Matter Of Fact She Does Not Know To This Day If Those Words Were Spoken, Or If He Only Caught Her, Wound His Arms Around Her, Held Her So Tightly, With Such Continual, Changing Pressures That It Seemed More Than Two Arms Were Needed, That She Was Surrounded By Him, His Body Strong And Light, Demanding And Renouncing All At Once, As If He Was Telling Her She Was Wrong To Give Up On Him, Everything Was Possible, But Then Again That She Was Not Wrong, He Meant To Stam Himself On Her And Go.

The Thing Is To Be Happy, No Matter What. Just Try That. You Can. It Gets To Be Easier And Easier. It's Nothing To Do With Circumstances. You Wouldn't Believe How Good It Is. Accept Everything And Then Tragedy Disappears. Or Tragedy Lightens, Anyway, You're Just There, Going Along Easy In The World.

Peoples Lives, In Jubilee As Elsewhere, Were Dull, Simple, Amazing, Unfathomable-deep Caves Paved With Kitchen Linoleum. . . . What I Wanted [to Write Down] Was Every Last Thing, Every Layer Of Speech And Thought, Stroke Of Light On Bark Or Walls, Every Smell, Pothole, Pain, Crack, Delusion, Held Still And Held Together-radiant, Everlasting.

And Now Such A Warm Commotion, Such Busy Love.

What She Wants To Do If She Can Get The Time To Do It, Is Not So Much To Live In The Past As To Open It Up And Get One Good Look At It".