Our Perfect Companions Never Have Fewer Than

By An Image We Hold On To Our Lost Treasures, But It Is The Wrenching Loss That Forms The Image, Composes, Binds The Bouquet.

Perhaps The Only Misplaced Curiosity Is That Which Persists In Trying To Find Out Here, On This Side Of Death, What Lies Beyond The Grave.

On This Narrow Planet, We Have Only The Choice Between Two Unknown Worlds. One Of Them Tempts Us - Ah! What A Dream, To Live In That! - The Other Stifles Us At The First Breath.

Researchers, With Science As Their Authority, Will Be Able To Cut Animals Up, Alive, Into Small Pieces, Drop Them From A Great Height To See If They Are Shattered By The Fall, Or Deprive Them Of Sleep For Sixteen Days And Nights Continuously For The Purposes Of An Iniquitous Monograph. . . . Animal Trust, Undeserved Faith, When At Last Will You Turn Away From Us? Shall We Never Tire Of Deceiving, Betraying, Tormenting Animals Before They Cease To Trust Us?

A Pretty Little Collection Of Weaknesses And A Terror Of Spiders Are Our Indispensable Stock-in-trade With The Men...