How the sting of poverty, or small means, is gone when one keeps house for one's own comfort and not for the comfort of one's neighbors.
An author departs, he does not die.
Oh the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are.
Pouring Them Words
It is astonishing what a lot of odd minutes one can catch during the day, if one really sets about it.
Really Sets Day