I Am Religious In The Sense That

No, It's Not A Very Good Story - Its Author Was Too Busy Listening To Other Voices To Listen As Closely As He Should Have To The One Coming From Inside.

The Exhilaration Was Hard To Explain. It Was A Lonely Feeling — A Somehow Melancholy Feeling. He Was Outside; He Passed On The Wings Of The Wind, And None Of The People Beyond The Brightly Lighted Squares Of Their Windows Saw Him. They Were Inside, Inside Where There Was Light And Warmth. They Didn't Know He Had Passed Them; Only He Knew. It Was A Secret Thing.

Time Is A Face On The Water.

I Was Built With A Love Of The Night And The Unquiet Coffin.

That's The Day's Business. Thinking. Thinking And Isolation, Because It Doesn't Matter If You Pass The Time Of Day With Someone Or Not; In The End, You're Alone. He Seemed To Have Put In As Many Miles In His Brain As He Had With His Feet. The Thoughts Kept Coming And There Was No Way To Deny Them.