O, You Have Torn My Life All

That Cold Accretion Called The World, So Terrible In The Mass, Is So Non Formidable, Even Pitiable, In Its Units.

Did You Say The Stars Were Worlds, Tess?" "yes." "all Like Ours?" "i Don't Know, But I Think So. They Sometimes Seem To Be Like The Apples On Our Stubbard-tree. Most Of Them Splendid And Sound - A Few Blighted." "which Do We Live On - A Splendid One Or A Blighted One?" "a Blighted One.

It Is Rarely That The Pleasures Of The Imagination Will Compensate For The Pain Of Sleeplessness.

I Am The Family Face; Flesh Perishes, I Live On.

Always Wanting Another Man Than Your Own.