Can't Bring Back Time. Like Holding Water

(...) You Cruel Creature, Little Mite Of A Thing With A Heart The Size Of A Fullstop.

O Cold ! O Shivery ! It Was Your Ambrosial Beauty. Forget, Forgive. Kismet. Let Me Off This Once.

There Is An Atmosphere Of Spiritual Effort Here. No Other City Is Quite Like It. I Wake Early, Often At 5 O'clock, And Start Writing At Once.

White Pudding And Eggs And Sausages And Cups Of Tea! How Simple And Beautiful Was Life After All!

Imagine Some Foul And Putrid Corpse That Has Lain Rotting And Decomposing In The Grave, A Jelly-like Mass Of Liquid Corruption. Imagine Such A Corpse A Prey To Flames, Devoured By The Fire Of Burning Brimstone And Giving Off Dense Choking Fumes Of Nauseous Loathsome Decomposition. And Then Imagine This Sickening Stench, Multiplied A Millionfold And A Millionfold Again From The Millions Upon Millions Of Fetid Carcasses Massed Together In The Reeking Darkness, A Huge And Rotting Human Fungus. Imagine All This, And You Will Have Some Idea Of The Horror Of The Stench Of Hell.