It Is Awkward To Listen To Oneself

There Is No Loneliness Like The Loneliness Of Crowds, Especially To Those Who Are Unaccustomed To Them.

Passion Is Like The Lightning, It Is Beautiful, And It Links The Earth To Heaven, But Alas It Blinds!

The Sky Aft Was Dark As Pitch, But The Moon Still Shone Brightly Ahead Of Us And Lit Up The Blackness. Beneath Its Sheen A Huge White-topped Breaker, Twenty Feet High Or More, Was Rushing On To Us. It Was On The Break-the Moon Shone On Its Crest And Tipped Its Foam With Light. On It Rushed Beneath The Inky Sky, Driven By The Awful Squall Behind It.

The Food That Memory Gives To Eat Is Bitter To The Taste, And It Is Only With The Teeth Of Hope That We Can Bear To Bite It.

Strange Are The Pictures Of The Future That Mankind Can Thus Draw With This Brush Of Faith And These Many-coloured Pigments Of The Imagination! Strange, Too, That No One Of Them Tallies With Another!