If There Is A Witness To My

Half Of Tradition Is A Lie.

Perhaps An Individual Must Consider His Own Death To Be The Final Phenomenon Of Nature.

And It Was As If Fate Had Betrayed The Soldier. In Death It Exposed To His Enemies That Poverty Which In Life He Had Perhaps Concealed From His Friends.

In The Swirling Rain That Came At Dusk The Broad Avenue Glistened With That Deep Bluish Tint Which Is So Widely Condemned When It Is Put Into Pictures.

There Is Nothing- No Life, No Joy, No Pain- There Is Nothing Save Opinion, And Opinion Be Damned.