The Circle Of Our Understanding Is A

Talent Imitates, Genius Steals.

The Winter Evening Settles Down With Smell Of Steaks In Passageways. Six O'clock. The Burnt-out Ends Of Smoky Days. And Now A Gusty Shower Wraps The Grimy Scraps Of Withered Leaves About Your Feet And Newspapers From Vacant Lots; The Showers Beat On Broken Blinds And Chimney-pots, And At The Corner Of The Street A Lonely Cab-horse Steams And Stamps. And Then The Lighting Of The Lamps.

But What Have I, But What Have I, My Friend, To Give You, What Can You Receive From Me? Only The Friendship And The Sympathy Of One About To Reach Her Journey's End.

There Will Be Time, There Will Be Time To Prepare A Face To Meet The Faces That You Meet.

Birth, And Copulation, And Death; That's All The Facts When You Come To Brass Tacks.