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Ysabella Brave

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This morning, when I got my mail — there's concrete all over the ground — cement, you know — and these little clovers — the little green clovers, like from St. Patrick's Day — the plant — were growing up out of the cement — no dirt and no nothing and no rain — and there they were, growing up out of the cement, and I was thinking — "that's like me."
--
"My Nightgown is Blue and I am too!" (20 March 2009)

 
Ysabella Brave

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I'm growing fonder of my staff;
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In this growing there are no really new things or new situation. There are only things growing out right, or things growing out deformed or shriveled. There is nothing new about railways or foundries or lathes or steel furnaces. They also are green-growing things. There is nothing new about organizations of men or of money. All these growing things are good, if they grow towards the final answers that were given in the beginning.

 
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The towers of Zenith aspired above the morning mist; austere towers of steel and cement and limestone, sturdy as cliffs and delicate as silver rods. ~ Ch. 1 [first sentence]

 
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