Oh The Nerves, The Nerves; The Mysteries

Love Is In All Things A Most Wonderful Teacher.

Perhaps Second-hand Cares, Like Second-hand Clothes, Come Easily Off And On.

Night, Like A Giant, Fills The Church, From Pavement To Roof, And Holds Dominion Through The Silent Hours. Pale Dawn Again Comes Peeping Through The Windows: And, Giving Place To Day, Sees Night Withdraw Into The Vaults, And Follows It, And Drives It Out, And Hides Among The Dead.

You Know What I Am Going To Say. I Love You. What Other Men May Mean When They Use That Expression, I Cannot Tell. What I Mean Is That I Am Under The Influence Of Some Tremendous Attraction Which I Have Resisted In Vain, And Which Overmasters Me. You Could Draw Me To Fire, You Could Draw Me To Water, You Could Draw Me To The Gallows, You Could Draw Me To Any Death, You Could Draw Me To Anything I Have Most Avoided, You Could Draw Me To Any Exposure And Disgrace. This And The Confusion Of My Thoughts, So That I Am Fit For Nothing, Is What I Mean By Your Being The Ruin Of Me.

One Disagreeable Result Of Whispering Is That It Seems To Evoke An Atmosphere Of Silence, Haunted By The Ghosts Of Sound - Strange Cracks And Tickings, The Rustling Of Garments That Have No Substance In Them, And The Tread Of Dreadful Feet That Would Leave No Mark On The Sea-sand Or The Winter Snow.