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All The Wild Sweetness Of The Flower Tangled Against The Wall. It Was That Magic, Silent Hour.... The Branches Grew So Tall They Twined Themselves Into A Bower. The Sun Shown ... And The Fall Of Yellow Blossom On The Grass! You Feel That Golden Rain? Both Of You Could Not Hold, Alas, (both Of You Tried, In Vain) A Memory, Stranger. So I Pass.... It Will Not Come Again.

-Katherine Mansfield

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All The Wild Sweetness

Katherine Mansfield

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All The Wild Sweetness Of The Flower Tangled Against The Wall. It Was That Magic, Silent Hour.... The Branches Grew So Tall They Twined Themselves Into A Bower. The Sun Shown ... And The Fall Of Yellow Blossom On The Grass! You Feel That Golden Rain? Both Of You Could Not Hold, Alas, (both Of You Tried, In Vain) A Memory, Stranger. So I Pass.... It Will Not Come Again.

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You Are A Queen. Let Mine Be The Joy Of Giving You Your Kingdom.

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Everything In Life That We Really Accept Undergoes A Change.

The Pleasure Of All Reading Is Doubled When One Lives With Another Who Shares The Same Books.

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But One Day We Shall Be Rich, And The Next Poor. One Day We Shall Dine In A Palace And The Next We'll Sit In A Forest And Toast Mushrooms On A Hatpin.

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Why It Should Be Such An Effort To Write To The People One Loves I Can't Imagine. It's None At All To Write To Those Who Don't Really Count.

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Could We Change Our Attitude, We Should Not Only See Life Differently, But Life Itself Would Come To Be Different.

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I'm A Writer First And A Woman After.

But The More Poetry One Reads The More One Longs To Read!

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To Be Alive And To Be A ‘writer’ Is Enough.

Roses Are The Only Flowers At Garden-parties; The Only Flowers That Everybody Is Certain Of Knowing.

I Really Only Have Perfect Fun With Myself. Other People Won't Stop And Look At The Things I Want To Look At Or, If They Do, They Stop To Please Me Or To Humor Me Or To Keep The Peace.

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I Want So To Live That I Work With My Hands And My Feeling And My Brain. I Want A Garden, A Small House, Grass, Animals, Books, Pictures, Music. And Out Of This, The Expression Of This, I Want To Be Writing (though I May Write About Cabmen. That’s No Matter.) But Warm, Eager, Living Life — To Be Rooted In Life — To Learn, To Desire, To Feel, To Think, To Act. This Is What I Want. And Nothing Less. That Is What I Must Try For.

Do You Remember Your Childhood? I Am Always Coming Across These Marvelous Accounts By Writers Who Declare That They Remember 'everything.' I Certainly Don't. The Dark Stretches, The Blanks, Are Much Bigger Than The Bright Glimpses. I Seem To Have Spent Most Of My Time Like A Plant In A Cupboard.

Remembers Everything

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