Well, For Instance, When I

But The Beginning Of Things, Of A World Especially, Is Necessarily Vague, Chaotic, And Exceedingly Disturbing. How Few Of Us Ever Emerge From Such Beginning! How Many Souls Perish In Its Tumult! The Voice Of The Sea Is Seductive; Never Ceasing, Whispering, Clamoring, Murmuring, Inviting The Soul To Wander For A Spell In Abysses Of Solitude; To Lose Itself In Mazes Of Inward Contemplation. The Voice Of The Sea Speaks To The Soul. The Touch Of The Sea Is Sensuous, Enfolding The Body In Its Soft, Close Embrace.

I Wonder If Anyone Else Has An Ear So Tuned And Sharpened As I Have, To Detect The Music, Not Of The Spheres, But Of Earth, Subtleties Of Major And Minor Chord That The Wind Strikes Upon The Tree Branches. Have You Ever Heard The Earth Breathe?

The Past Was Nothing To Her; Offered No Lesson Which She Was Willing To Heed. The Future Was A Mystery Which She Never Attempted To Penetrate. The Present Alone Was Significant.

In The Procession I Should Feel The Crushing Feet, The Clashing Discords, The Ruthless Hands And Stifling Breath. I Could Not Hear The Rhythm Of The March.

He Greatly Valued His Possessions, Chiefly Because They Were His, And Derived Genuine Pleasure From Contemplating A Painting, A Statuette, A Rare Lace Curtain - No Matter What - After He Had Bought It And Placed It Among His Household Gods.