Murder Your Darlings.

She Was Dazzling-- Alight; It Was Agony To Comprehend Her Beauty In A Glance.

You’re Just The Romantic Age,” She Continued- “fifty. Twenty-five Is Too Worldly Wise; Thirty Is Apt To Be Pale From Overwork; Forty Is The Age Of Long Stories That Take A Whole Cigar To Tell; Sixty Is- Oh, Sixty Is Too Near Seventy; But Fifty Is The Mellow Age. I Love Fifty.” - Hildegarde

Now The Standard Cure For One Who Is Sunk Is To Consider Those In Actual Destitution Or Physical Suffering

Through All He Said, Even Through His Appalling Sentimentality, I Was Reminded Of Something-an Elusive Rhythm, A Fragment Of Lost Words, That I Heard Somewhere A Long Time Ago. For A Moment A Phrase Tried To Take Shape In My Mouth And My Lips Parted Like A Dumb Man's, As Though There Was More Struggling Upon Them Than A Wisp Of Startled Air. But They Made No Sound And What I Had Almost Remembered Was Uncommunicable Forever.

It Isn't Given To Us To Know Those Rare Moments When People Are Wide Open And The Lightest Touch Can Wither Or Heal. A Moment Too Late And We Can Never Reach Them Any More In This World. They Will Not Be Cured By Our Most Efficacious Drugs Or Slain With Our Sharpest Swords.