He Wanted To Cry Quietly But Not

Michael Robartes Remembers Forgotten Beauty And, When His Arms Wrap Her Round, He Presses In His Arms The Loveliness Which Has Long Faded From The World. Not This. Not At All. I Desire To Press In My Arms The Loveliness Which Has Not Yet Come Into The World.

To Live, To Err, To Fall, To Triumph, To Recreate Life Out Of Life.

There Is No Heresy Or No Philosophy Which Is So Abhorrent To The Church As A Human Being.

There's No Friends Like The Old Friends.

What? Corpus. Body. Corpse. Good Idea The Latin. Stupifies Them First. Hospice For The Dying. They Don't Seem To Chew It; Only Swallow It Down.