I Am A Worker, A Tombstone Mason,

A Wild Angel Had Appeared To Him, The Angel Of Mortal Youth And Beauty, An Envoy From The Fair Courts Of Life, To Throw Open Before Him In An Instant Of Ecstasy The Gates Of All The Ways Of Error And Glory.

I Came In At Half Past Eleven. Since Then I Have Been Sitting In An Easy Chair Like A Fool. I Could Do Nothing. I Hear Nothing But Your Voice. I Am Like A Fool Hearing You Call Me 'dear.' I Offended Two Men Today By Leaving Them Coolly. I Wanted To Hear Your Voice, Not Theirs. When I Am With You I Leave Aside My Contemptuous, Suspicious Nature. I Wish I Felt Your Head On My Shoulder.

In This Life Our Sorrows Are Either Not Very Long Or Not Very Great Because Nature Either Overcomes Them By Habits Or Puts An End To Them By Sinking Under Their Weight. But In Hell The Torments Cannot Be Overcome By Habit, For While They Are Of Terrible Intensity They Are At The Same Time Of Continual Variety, Each Pain, So To Speak, Taking Fire From Another And Re-endowing That Which Has Enkindled It With A Still Fiercer Flame.

For The Years, He Felt, Had Not Quenched His Soul, Or Hers.

(...) The New Nine Muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty Of Specch, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics And Astronomy For The People.