Mount And Begone. The World

Seeing An Earl As An Owl On A Mantelpiece, And Having Part Of One's Face Removed By A Cat, Both On The Same Morning, Can Temporarily Undermine The Self-control Of Any Man.

[peake's Books] Are Actual Additions To Life; They Give, Like Certain Rare Dreams, Sensations We Never Had Before, And Enlarge Our Conception Of The Range Of Possible Experience.

We Are All Imprisoned By The Dictionary. We Choose Out Of That Vast, Paper-walled Prison Our Convicts, The Little Black Printed Words, When In Truth We Need Fresh Sounds To Utter, New Enfranchised Noises Which Would Produce A New Effect.

This Tower, Patched Unevenly With Black Ivy, Arose Like A Mutilated Finger From Among The Fists Of Knuckled Masonry And Pointed Blasphemously At Heaven. At Night The Owls Made Of It An Echoing Throat; By Day It Stood Voiceless And Cast Its Long Shadow.

In The Presence Of Real Tragedy You Feel Neither Pain Nor Joy Nor Hatred, Only A Sense Of Enormous Space And Time Suspended, The Great Doors Open To Black Eternity, The Rising Across The Terrible Field Of That Last Enormous, Unanswerable Question.