One Beast And Only One Howls In

Reciprocity Of Sensation Is Not Possible Because To Share Is To Be Robbed.

Sad; So Sad, Those Smoky-rose, Smoky-mauve Evenings Of Late Autumn, Sad Enough To Pierce The Heart.

Nostalgia, The Vice Of The Aged.

They Were Connoisseurs Of Boredom. They Savoured The Various Bouquets Of The Subtly Differentiated Boredoms Which Rose From The Long, Wasted Hours At The Dead End Of Night.

Among The Monsters, I Am Well Hidden; Who Looks For A Leaf In A Forest?