The Incompatibility Of Aquacity With The Erratic

Civilization May Be Said Indeed To Be The Creation Of Its Outlaws.

Evening Had Fallen. A Rim Of The Young Moon Cleft The Pale Waste Of Sky Line, The Rim Of A Silver Hoop Embedded In Grey Sand: And The Tide Was Flowing In Fast To The Land With A Low Whisper Of Her Waves, Islanding A Few Last Figures In Distant Pools.

Life Is Too Short To Read A Bad Book.

He Drew Forth A Phrase From His Treasure And Spoke It Softly To Himself: A Day Of Dappled Seaborne Clouds.

Let Us Leave Theories There And Return To Here's Hear.