Lingering Is So Very Lonely When One

I Am Clever Enough To Know That I Am Clever.

And Now, My Poor Old Woman, Why Are You Crying So Bitterly? It Is Autumn. The Leaves Are Falling From The Trees Like Burning Tears- The Wind Howls. Why Must You Mimic Them?

Life Is Too Fleet For Onomatopoeia.

Noon, Ripe As Thunder And Silent As Thought, Had Fled Unfingered.

Gormenghast, That Is, The Main Massing Of The Original Stone, Taken By Itself Would Have Displayed A Certain Ponderous Architectural Quality Were It Possible To Have Ignored The Circumfusion Of Those Mean Dwellings That Swarmed Like An Epidemic Around It S Outer Walls.