No, My Secrets Are Of The Grave

There Was No Mistaking, Even In The Uncertain Light, The Hand, Half Crabbed, Half Generous, And Wholly Drunken, Of The Consul Himself, The Greek E's, The Flying Buttresses Of D's, The T's Like Lonely Wayside Crosses Save Where They Crucified An Entire Word.

Perhaps His Tragedy Is That He Is The One Normal Writer Left On Earth And It Is This That Adds To His Isolation And So To His Sense Of Guilt.

I Like Prefaces. I Read Them. Sometimes I Do Not Read Any Further.

Adiós," She Added In Spanish, "i Have No House Only A Shadow. But Whenever You Are In Need Of A Shadow, My Shadow Is Yours." "thank You." "sank You." "not Sank You, Señora Gregorio, Thank You." "sank You.

What I Have Absolutely No Sympathy With Is The Legislator, The Man Who Seeks, For His Own Profit, To Exploit The Weaknesses Of Those Who Are Unable To Help Themselves And Then To Fasten Some Moral Superscription Upon It. This I Loathe So Much That I Cannot Conceivably Explain How Much It Is.