For Plain And Fancy Worrying, Give Me

Fear," The Doctor Said, "is The Relinquishment Of Logic, The Willing Relinquishing Of Reasonable Patterns. We Yield To It Or We Fight It, But We Cannot Meet It Halfway.

It Is Only With The Eyes Open That A Corporeal Form Returns, And Assembles Itself Firmly Around The Hard Core Of Sight.

No Live Organism Can Continue For Long To Exist Sanely Under Conditions Of Absolute Reality.

On The Moon We Wore Feathers In Our Hair, And Rubies On Our Hands. On The Moon We Had Gold Spoons.

It Was One Of Those Winter Days That Suddenly Dream Of Spring, When The Sky Is Blue And Soft And Clear, And The Wind Has Dropped Its Voice And Whispers Instead Of Screaming, And The Sun Is Out And The Trees Look Surprised, And Over Everything There Is The Faintest, Palest Tint Of Green.