There Is Universal Substance Which

The Human Bones Are But Vain Lines Dawdling, The Whole Universe A Blank Mold Of Stars.

Everything Is Perfect On The Street Again, The World Is Permeated With Roses Of Happiness All The Time, But None Of Us Know It. The Happiness Consists In Realizing That It Is All A Great Strange Dream.

The Silence Was An Intense Roar.

She Spoke Of Evenings In The Country Making Popcorn On The Porch. Once This Would Have Gladdened My Heart But Because Her Heart Was Not Glad When She Said It I Knew There Was Nothing In It But The Idea Of What One Should Do.

The Bus Roared On. I Was Going Home In October. Everybody Goes Home In October.