Something To Remember, That: Cats For Missiles.

There Are Times When The Air That Floats Between Mortals Becomes, In Its Stillness And Silence, As Cruel As The Edge Of A Scythe.

I Am The Wilderness Lost In Man.

Yet Not With All Of Me Am I In Love. Too Much Of My Own Quietness Is With Me.

Seeing An Earl As An Owl On A Mantelpiece, And Having Part Of One's Face Removed By A Cat, Both On The Same Morning, Can Temporarily Undermine The Self-control Of Any Man.

I Was Brooding, Boy. Than Which There Is No Richer Pastime. It Muffles One With Rotting Plumes. It Gives Forth Sullen Music. It Is The Smell Of Home.