Keep It, Keep It!" I Answered. "you

In Old Age We Are Like A Batch Of Letters That Someone Has Sent. We Are No Longer In The Past, We Have Arrived.

And Love Became The World's Origin And The World's Ruler, Yet Littered Its Path Is With Flowers And Blood, Flowers And Blood.

In My Solitude, Many Miles From Men And Houses, I Am In A Childishly Happy And Carefree State Of Mind, Which You Are Incapable Of Understanding Unless Someone Explains It To You

A Few Days Back Someone Sent Me Two Feathers. Two Bird's Feathers In A Sheet Of Note-paper With A Coronet, And Fastened With A Seal. Sent From A Place A Long Way Off; From One Who Need Not Have Sent Them Back At All. That Amused Me Too, Those Devilish Green Feathers.

The Heavy Red Roses Smoldering In The Foggy Morning, Blood-colored And Uninhibited, Made Me Greedy, And Tempted Me Powerfully To Steal One--i Asked The Prices Merely So I Could Come As Near Them As Possible.