He Felt As If He Were Paying

Such A Thing As The Child Left Alone To Die In The Hallway Was Unknown On The Marsh. But Here, In The Dawn, Was Mortality Itself. In The City Were Places To Fall From Which One Could Never Emerge -- Dark Dreams And Slow Death, The Death Of Children, Suffering Without Grace Or Redemption, Ultimate And Eternal Loss. The Memory Of The Child Stayed With Him. But That Was Not To Be The End Of It, For Reality Went Around In A Twisting Ring. Even The Irredeemable Would Be Redeemed, And There Was A Balance For Everything. There Had To Be.

From Long Familiarity, We Know What Honor Is. It Is What Enables The Individual To Do Right In The Face Of Complacency And Cowardice. It Is What Enables The Soldier To Die Alone, The Political Prisoner To Resist, The Singer To Sing Her Song, Hardly Appreciated, On A Side Street.

Particularly As A Jew, I Don't Like Missionary Work. I've Had It Focused On Me, And I Don't Like It. Let People Be What They Want To Be.

Marxists Are People Whose Insides Are Torn Up Day After Day Because They Want To Rule The World And No One Will Even Publish Their Letter To The Editor.

If It Weren't For Music, I Would Think That Love Is Mortal.