At All Events, I Do Not Mean

Time Changes All Things And Cultivates Even In Herself An Appreciation Of Irony, And, Therefore, Why Shouldn't I Have Changed A Trifle?

I Fear You And, Yes, I Love You: And Yet I Cannot Believe. Why Could You Not Let Me Believe, Where So Many Believed? Or Else, Why Could You Not Let Me Deride, As The Remainder Derided So Noisily? O God, Why Could You Not Let Me Have Faith? For You Gave Me No Faith In Anything, Not Even In Nothingness. It Was Not Fair.

I Do That Which I Do In Every Place. Here Also, At The Gateway Of That Garden Into Which Time Has Not Entered, I Fight With Time My Ever-losing Battle, Because To Do That Diverts Me.

Thou Shalt Not Offend Against The Notions Of Thy Neighbor.

I Fight Against The Gluttony Of Time With So Many Very Amusing Weapons With Gestures And With Three Attitudes And With Charming Phrases; With Tears And With Tinsel, And With Sugar-coated Pills, And With Platitudes Slightly Regilded. Yes, And I Fight Him Also With Little Mirrors Wherein Gleam Confusedly The Corruptions Of Lust, And Ruddy Loyalty, And A Bit Of Moonshine, And The Pure Diamond Of The Heart's Desire, And The Opal Cloudings Of Human Compromise: But, Above All, I Fight That Ravening Dotard With The Strength Of My Own Folly.