It's Really Not So Good To Have

Never Run From Anything Immortal. It Attracts Their Attention.

I'll Tell You Something. Once I Was Very Fond Of A Poem By Emily Dickinson Or Somebody. I Only Remember One Line Of It, But It Goes, 'the Soul Selects Her Own Society.' I Used To Tell It To Everybody. Once I Quoted It To A Friend Of Mine, And He Said, 'maybe, But The Body Gets Thrown Into Bed With The Goddamnedest People.

Song Of Elli (old Age) "what Is Plucked Will Grow Again, What Is Slain Lives On, What Is Stolen Will Remain What Is Gone Is Gone... What Is Sea-born Dies On Land, Soft Is Trod Upon. What Is Given Burns The Hand - What Is Gone Is Gone... Here Is There, And High Is Low; All May Be Undone. What Is True, No Two Men Know - What Is Gone Is Gone... Who Has Choices Need Not Choose. We Must, Who Have None. We Can Love But What We Lose - What Is Gone Is Gone.

The Most Professional Curse Ever Snarled Or Croaked Or Thundered Can Have No Effect On A Pure Heart.

He Is A Great Enough Magician To Tap Our Most Common Nightmares, Daydreams And Twilight Fancies, But He Never Invented Them Either: He Found Them A Place To Live, A Green Alternative To Each Day's Madness Here In A Poisoned World. We Are Raised To Honor All The Wrong Explorers And Discoverers - Thieves Planting Flags, Murderers Carrying Crosses. Let Us At Last Praise The Colonizers Of Dreams.