We Lead Two Lives, And

And It Is Utterly True That He Who Cannot Find Wonder, Mystery, Awe, The Sense Of A New World And An Undiscovered Realm In The Places By The Gray's Inn Road Will Never Find These Secrets Elsewhere.

There Are Certain Scenes, Certain Hills And Valleys And Groves Of Pines Which Demand That A Story Shall Be Written About Them. I Would Refine; I Would Say That The Emotions Aroused By These External Things Reverberating In The Heart Are Indeed The Story; Or All That Signifies The Story....we Translate A Hill Into A Tale, Conceive Lovers To Explain A Brook, Turn The Perfect Into The Imperfect.

We Lead Two Lives, And The Half Of Our Soul Is Madness, And Half Heaven Is Lit By A Black Sun. I Say I Am A Man, Is The Other That Hides In Me?

There Are Strange Things Lost And Forgotten In Obscure Corners Of The Newspaper.

If A Man Dreams That He Has Committed A Sin Before Which The Sun Hid His Face, It Is Often Safe To Conjecture That, In Sheer Forgetfulness, He Wore A Red Tie, Or Brown Boots With Evening Dress.