O God, In The Dream The Terrible

I Don't Like Quintessential Certitude.

Song, Like A Wing, Tears Through My Breast, My Side, And Madness Chooses Out My Voice Again, Again.

Perhaps This Very Instant Is Your Time.

... How Much Of Our Inner Substance Is It Good For Us To Give To Public Griefs? The Whole Modern Tendency To Agonize Over The Suffering Of The Entire Globe Is Surely Something New.

Because Language Is The Carrier Of Ideas, It Is Easy To Believe That It Should Be Very Little Else Than Such A Carrier.