I'll Tickle His Catastrophe.

In This Life Our Sorrows Are Either Not Very Long Or Not Very Great Because Nature Either Overcomes Them By Habits Or Puts An End To Them By Sinking Under Their Weight. But In Hell The Torments Cannot Be Overcome By Habit, For While They Are Of Terrible Intensity They Are At The Same Time Of Continual Variety, Each Pain, So To Speak, Taking Fire From Another And Re-endowing That Which Has Enkindled It With A Still Fiercer Flame.

Mistakes Are The Portals Of Discovery.

All Moanday, Tearday, Wailsday, Thumpsday, Frightday, Shatterday.

Like The Tender Fires Of Stars Moments Of Their Life Together, That No One Knew Of Or Would Ever Know Of, Broke Upon And Illuminated His Memory.

I Desire To Press In My Arms The Loveliness Which Has Not Yet Come Into The World.