The Only Thing You Must Never Speak

Birth Was The Death Of Him.

I Had Seen Faces In Photographs I Might Have Found Beautiful Had I Known Even Vaguely In What Beauty Was Supposed To Consist. And My Father's Face, On His Death-bolster, Had Seemed To Hint At Some Form Of Aesthetics Relevant To Man. But The Faces Of The Living, All Grimace And Flush, Can They Be Described As Objects?

All I Say Cancels Out, I’ll Have Said Nothing.

Sloth Is All Passions The Most Powerful.

Words Fail, There Are Times When Even They Fail.