Failure To Love Is Almost Like Murder.

Oh, What A Love It Was, Utterly Free, Unique, Like Nothing Else On Earth! Their Thoughts Were Like Other People's Songs.

What For Centuries Raised Man Above The Beast Is Not The Cudgel But The Irresistible Power Of Unarmed Truth.

He Was A Natural, And In The Russian Way, Tragically Above These Banalities.

No Deep And Strong Feeling, Such As We May Come Across Here And There In The World, Is Unmixed With Compassion. The More We Love, The More The Object Of Our Love Seems To Us To Be A Victim.

As Before The Collapse, The Setting Sun Brushed The Tiles, Brought Out The Warm Brown Glow On The Wallpaper, And Hung The Shadow Of The Birch On The Wall As If It Were A Woman's Scarf.