Alone, Alone, All, All Alone, Alone On

Falsehood Is Fire In Stubble; It Likewise Turns All The Light Stuff Around It Into Its Own Substance For A Moment, One Crackling Blazing Moment, And Then Dies; And All Its Converts Are Scattered In The Wind, Without Place Or Evidence Of Their Existence, As Viewless As The Wind Which Scatters Them.

For I Often Please Myself With The Fancy, Now That I May Have Saved From Oblivion The Only Striking Passage In A Whole Volume, And Now That I May Have Attracted Notice To A Writer Undeservedly Forgotten.

Laughter Is Equally The Expression Of Extreme Anguish And Horror As Of Joy: As There Are Tears Of Sorrow And Tears Of Joy, So Is There A Laugh Of Terror And A Laugh Of Merriment.

Facts Are Not Truths; They Are Not Conclusions; They Are Not Even Premises, But In The Nature And Parts Of Premises.

Within Today, Tomorrow Is Already Walking.