n sooth, I know not why I am so sad: It wearies me; you say it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn; And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, That I have much ado to know myself.

Old Memories.....
Nothung but a gate to depression!!!

You do not learn how to write novels in a writing program. You learn how by leading an interesting life. Open yourself up to all experience. Let life pour through you the way light pours through leaves.

If he is tired, and they put a foot wrong, he will choose the one unmentionable response and make it. He did it last night.

Written By Dorothy Dunnett

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