And Wrinkles, The Damned Democrats, Won't Flatter.

A Thousand Years May Scare Form A State. An Hour May Lay It In Ruins.

This Is The Age Of Oddities Let Loose.

It Is Singular How Soon We Lose The Impression Of What Ceases To Be Constantly Before Us. A Year Impairs, A Luster Obliterates. There Is Little Distinct Left Without An Effort Of Memory, Then Indeed The Lights Are Rekindled For A Moment - But Who Can Be Sure That The Imagination Is Not The Torch-bearer?

Are Not The Mountains, Waves, And Skies As Much A Part Of Me, As I Of Them?

Books, Manuals, Directives, Regulations. The Geometries That Circumscribe Your Working Life Draw Norrower And Norrower Until Nothing Fits Inside Them Anymore.