Despair ... Is Like A Gas, Odourless,

For Himself, Then. For His Idea Of The World, A World In Which Men Do Not Use Shovels To Beat Corpses Into A More Convenient Shape For Processing.

Once I Lived In Time As A Fish In Water, Breathing It, Drinking It, Sustained By It. Now I Kill Time And Time Kills Me.

You Think You Know What Is Just And What Is Not. I Understand. We All Think We Know." I Had No Doubt, Myself, Then, That At Each Moment Each One Of Us, Man, Woman, Child, Perhaps Even The Poor Old Horse Turning The Mill-wheel, Knew What Was Just: All Creatures Come Into The World Bringing With Them The Memory Of Justice. "but We Live In A World Of Laws," I Said To My Poor Prisoner, "a World Of The Second-best. There Is Nothing We Can Do About That. We Are Fallen Creatures. All We Can Do Is To Uphold The Laws, All Of Us, Without Allowing The Memory Of Justice To Fade.

In A World Of Chance Is There A Better And A Worse? We Yield To A Stranger's Embrace Or Give Ourselves To The Waves; For The Blink Of An Eyelid Our Vigilance Relaxes; We Are Asleep; And When We Awake, We Have Lost The Direction Of Our Lives. What Are These Blinks Of An Eyelid, Against Which The Only Defence Is An Eternal And Inhuman Wakefulness? Might They Not Be The Cracks And Chinks Through Which Another Voice, Other Voices, Speak In Our Lives? By What Right Do We Close Our Ears To Them? (susan Barton)

Restoration Is A Skilled Profession. You Might Even Call It An Art In Its Own Right, Except That It Is Frowned On To Be Original. First Rule Of Restoration: Follow The Intention Of The Artist. Never Try To Improve On Him.