I Did Not Look For Her, Because

When She Raises Her Eyelids It's As If She Were Taking Off All Her Clothes.

At Sixty-three Years Of Age, Less A Quarter, One Still Has Plans.

That Lovely Voice; How I Should Weep For Joy If I Could Hear It Now!

Among All The Modernized Aspects Of The Most Luxurious Of Industries, The Model, A Vestige Of Voluptuous Barbarianism, Is Like Some Plunder-laden Prey. She Is The Object Of Unbridled Regard, A Living Bait, The Passive Realization Of An Ideal. No Other Female Occupation Contains Such Potent Impulses To Moral Disintegration As This One, Applying As It Does The Outward Signs Of Riches To A Poor And Beautiful Girl.

Chance, My Master And My Friend, Will, I Feel Sure, Deign Once Again To Send Me The Spirits Of His Unruly Kingdom. All My Trust Is Now In Him- And In Myself. But Above All In Him, For When I Go Under He Always Fishes Me Out, Seizing And Shaking Me Like A Life-saving Dog Whose Teeth Tear My Skin A Little Every Time. So Now, Whenever I Despair, I No Longer Expect My End, But Some Bit Of Luck, Some Commonplace Little Miracle Which, Like A Glittering Link, Will Mend Again The Necklace Of My Days.