Doom Is Dark And Deeper Than Any

He Was My North, My South, My East And West, My Working Week And My Sunday Rest, My Noon, My Midnight, My Talk, My Song; I Thought That Love Would Last Forever: I Was Wrong.

Does God Judge Us By Appearances? I Suspect That He Does.

About Suffering They Were Never Wrong, The Old Masters.

A Small Grove Massacred To The Last Ash, An Oak With Heart-rot, Give Away The Show: This Great Society Is Going To Smash; They Cannot Fool Us With How Fast They Go, How Much They Cost Each Other And The Gods. A Culture Is No Better Than Its Woods.

All The Literati Keep An Imaginary Friend.