To Think Is To Be Sick.

Madness To Us Means Reversion; To Such People As Una And Lena It Meant Progression. Now Their Uncle Had Entered Into A Land Beyond Them, The Land Of Fancy. For Fifty Years He Had Been As They Were, Silent, Hard-working, Unimaginative. Then All Of A Sudden, Like A Scholar Passing His Degree, He Had Gone Up Into Another Form.

And Must I, Perchance, Like Careful Writers, Guard Myself Against The Conclusions Of My Readers?

I'm A Fart In A Gale Of Wind, A Humble Violet Under A Cow Pat.

I've Seen Death And I Didn't Like It.

God, Children Know Something They Can't Tell; They Like Red Riding Hood And The Wolf In Bed!