Perhaps His Tragedy Is That

The Howling Pariah Dogs, The Cocks That Herald Dawn All Night, The Drumming, The Moaning That Will Be Found Later White Plumage Huddled On Telegraph Wires In Back Gardens Or Fowl Roosting In Apple Trees, The Eternal Sorrow That Never Sleeps Of Great Mexico.

The Movements Of Some More Little Red Birds In The Garden, Like Animated Rosebuds, Appeared Unbearably Jittery And Thievish. It Was As Though The Creatures Were Attached By Sensitive Wires To His Nerves.

How Alike Are The Groans Of Love To Those Of The Dying.

Only Against Death Does Man Cry Out In Vain.

Never Think That By Releasing Me You Will Be Free. You Would Only Condemn Us To An Ultimate Hell On Earth. You Would Only Free Something Else To Destroy Us Both.