Maybe The Man Had Taken

Evil, However Powerful It Seemed,could Be Undone By Its Own Appetite

Flesh Could Not Keep Its Glamour, Nor Eyes Their Sheen. They Would Go To Nothing Soon. But Monsters Are Forever.

To You Who Have Never Died, May I Say: Welcome To The World!

Spring, If It Lingers More Than A Week Beyond Its Span, Starts To Hunger For Summer To End The Days Of Perpetual Promise. Summer In Its Turn Soon Begins To Sweat For Something To Quench Its Heat, And The Mellowest Of Autumns Will Tire Of Gentility At Last, And Ache For A Quick Sharp Frost To Kill Its Fruitfulness. Even Winter — The Hardest Season, The Most Implacable — Dreams, As February Creeps On, Of The Flame That Will Presently Melt It Away. Everything Tires With Time, And Starts To Seek Some Opposition, To Save It From Itself.

Perhaps A Wiser Eye Than Hers Would Be Able To Read Tomorrow In Tonight's Stars, But Where Was The Fun In That? It Was Better Not To Know. Better To Be Alive In The Here And The Now--in This Bright, Laughing Moment--and Let The Hours To Come Take Care Of Themselves.