I Had To Paraphrase The Paraphrase.

There Is A Word In Old English Which Belongs Wholly To That Civilization - "dustsceawung," Meaning Contemplation Of Dust. It Is A True Image Of The Anglo-saxon Mind, Or At Least An Echo Of That Consciousness Which Considered Transcience And Loss To Be Part Of The Human Estate; It Was A World In Which Life Was Uncertain And The Principal Diety Was Fate Or Destiny Or "wyrd."

And When I Was Young, Did I Ever Tell You, I Always Wanted To Get Inside A Book And Never Come Out Again? I Loved Reading So Much I Wanted To Be A Part Of It, And There Were Some Books I Could Have Stayed In For Ever.

The English Have Always Been Greedy For News Of Times Past, With That Mixture Of Fatalism And Melancholy Which Is Part Of The National Character.

Under The Force Of The Imagination, Nature Itself Is Changed.

It Is Strange, Is It Not, How A Person Can Adore One's Soul So Much That They Adore One's Body Also?