Yet Not With All Of Me Am

What Is Time... That You Speak Of It So Subserviently? Are We To Be The Slaves Of The Sun, That Second-hand, Overrated Knob Of Gilt, Or Of His Sister, That Fatuous Circle Of Silver Paper? A Curse Upon Their Ridiculous Dictatorship!

Cold Love’s The Loveliest Love Of All. So Clear, So Crisp, So Empty. In Short, So Civilized.

Life Is Too Fleet For Onomatopoeia.

The Sun Sank With A Sob And Darkness Waded In From All Horizons So That The Sky Contracted And There Was No More Light Left In The World, When, At This Very Moment Of Annihilation, The Moon, As Though She Had Been Waiting For Her Cue, Sailed Up The Night.

[peake's Books] Are Actual Additions To Life; They Give, Like Certain Rare Dreams, Sensations We Never Had Before, And Enlarge Our Conception Of The Range Of Possible Experience.