Until Only Infinity Remained Of Beauty

And We May Be Led, Then, Upward Through More Powerful Forms Of Poetry, Past Columns With Peeling Posters On Them, To The Country Of Indifference. Meanwhile If The Swell Diapasons, Blooms Unhappily And Too Soon, The Little People Are Nonetheless Real.

Once A Happy Old Man One Can Never Change The Core Of Things, And Light Burns You The Harder For It.

The First Year Was Like Icing. Then The Cake Started To Show Through.

Sometimes A Musical Phrase Would Perfectly Sum Up The Mood Of A Moment. One Of Those Lovelorn Sonatas For Wind Instruments Was Riding Past On A Solemn White Horse. Everybody Wondered Who The New Arrival Was.

In The Evening Everything Has A Schedule, If You Can Find Out What It Is.