Boredom Is A Pleasing Antidote For Fear

Writers Should Be Read, But Neither Seen Nor Heard.

I Thought Of All Those Heroines Of Fiction Who Looked Pretty When They Cried, And What A Contrast I Must Make With A Blotched And Swollen Face, And Red Rims To My Eyes.

All Whispers And Echoes From A Past That Is Gone Teem Into The Sleeper's Brain, And He Is With Them, And Part Of Them.

We Are All Ghosts Of Yesterday, And The Phantom Of Tomorrow Awaits Us Alike In Sunshine Or In Shadow, Dimly Perceived At Times, Never Entirely Lost.

I Had Build Up False Pictures In My Mind And Sat Before Them. I Had Never Had The Courage To Demand The Truth.