I Can Normally Tell How Intelligent A

Things Happen To You They Happen. They Dont Ask First. They Dont Require Your Permission.

Where Men Can't Live Gods Fare No Better.

Each The Others World Entire.

The Nights Were Blinding Cold And Casket Black And The Long Reach Of The Morning Had A Terrible Silence To It.

Perhaps In The World's Destruction It Would Be Possible At Last To See How It Was Made. Oceans, Mountains. The Ponderous Counterspectacle Of Things Ceasing To Be. The Sweeping Waste, Hydroptic And Coldly Secular. The Silence.