There Is Suffering In The Light; In

You Are Adorable, Mademoiselle. I Study Your Feet With The Microscope And Your Soul With The Telescope.

To Know, To Think, To Dream. That Is Everything.

As With Stomachs, We Should Pity Minds That Do Not Eat.

And If It Happened To Be A Christmas-night When The Great Bell Seemed To Rattle In Its Throat As It Called The Faithful To The Midnight Mass, There Was Such An Indescribable Air Of Life Spread Over The Sombre Facade That The Great Door-way Looked As If It Were Swallowing The Entire Crowd, And The Rose-window Staring At Them.

Spira, Spera. (breathe, Hope)