For What Use Are Books

Life Is Too Fleet For Onomatopoeia.

He Saw In Happiness The Seeds Of Independence, And In Independence The Seeds Of Revolt.

For Death Is Life. It Is Only Living That Is Lifeless.

And Now, My Poor Old Woman, Why Are You Crying So Bitterly? It Is Autumn. The Leaves Are Falling From The Trees Like Burning Tears- The Wind Howls. Why Must You Mimic Them?

There Is A Brotherhood Among The Kindly- Closer And Defter And More Integral- Than Any Of Aisle Or Coven- For Love Rang Out Before The Chapel Bell