And It Is Utterly True That He

Very Softly, But Very Swiftly, Last, The Man With The Grey Face And The Staring Eyes, Bolted For His Life, Down And Away From The White House. Once In The Road, Free From The Fields And Brakes, He Changed His Run Into A Walk, And He Never Paused Or Stopped, Till He Came With A Gulp Of Relief Into The Ugly Streets Of The Big Industrial Town. He Made Hi Way To The Station At Once, And Found That He Was An Hour Too Soon For The London Express. So, There Was Plenty Of Time For Breakfast; Which Consisted Of Brandy.

Here Then Is The Pattern In My Carpet, The Sense Of The Eternal Mysteries, The Eternal Beauty Hidden Beneath The Crust Of Common And Commonplace Things; Hidden And Yet Burning And Glowing Continually If You Care To Look With Purged Eyes.

In Every Grain Of Wheat There Lies Hidden The Soul Of A Star.

There Are Sacraments Of Evil As Well As Of Good About Us, And We Live And Move To My Belief In An Unknown World, A Place Where There Are Caves And Shadows And Dwellers In Twilight. It Is Possible That Man May Sometimes Return On The Track Of Evolution, And It Is My Belief That An Awful Lore Is Not Yet Dead.

And There Were Other Rocks That Were Like Animals, Creeping, Horrible Animals, Putting Out Their Tongues, And Others Were Like Words I Could Not Say, And Others Like Dead People Lying On The Grass. I Went On Among Them, Though They Frightened Me, And My Heart Was Full Of Wicked Song They Put Into It; And I Wanted To Make Faces And Twist Myself About The Way They Did, And I Went On And On A Long Way Till At Last I Liked The Rocks And They Didn’t Frighten Me Any More