The Season Of Love Is The Carnival

Around The Ancient Track Marched, Rank On Rank, The Army Of Unalterable Law.

There Is Nothing The Body Suffers Which The Soul May Not Profit By.

Darker Grows The Valley, More And More Forgetting: So Were It With Me If Forgetting Could Be Willed. Tell The Grassy Hollow That Holds The Bubbling Well-spring, Tell It To Forget The Source That Keeps It Filled.

She [comedy] It Is Who Proposes The Correcting Of Pretentiousness, Of Inflation, Of Dulness, And Of The Vestiges Of Rawness And Grossness To Be Found Among Us. She Is The Ultimate Civilizer, The Polisher, A Sweet Cook.

It Is The Devil's Masterstroke To Get Us To Accuse Him