Anything Is Better Than Stagnation.

It May Have Been A Comedy, Or It May Have Been A Tragedy. It Cost One Man His Reason, It Cost Me A Blood-letting, And It Cost Yet Another Man The Penalties Of The Law. Yet There Was Certainly An Element Of Comedy. Well, You Shall Judge For Yourselves.

From A Drop Of Water A Logician Could Infer The Possibility Of An Atlantic Or A Niagara Without Having Seen Or Heard Of One Or The Other.

Conceive A Jelly-fish Such As Sails In Our Summer Seas, Bell-shaped And Of Enormous Size - Far Larger, I Should Judge, Than The Dome Of St. Paul's. It Was Of A Light Pink Colour Veined With A Delicate Green, But The Whole Huge Fabric So Tenuous That It Was But A Fairy Outline Against The Dark Blue Sky. It Pulsated With A Delicate And Regular Rhythm. From It There Depended Two Long Drooping, Green Tentacles, Which Swayed Slowly Backwards And Forwards. This Gorgeous Vision Passed Gently With Noiseless Dignity Over My Head, As Light And Fragile As A Soap-bubble, And Drifted Upon Its Stately Way.

But Love Is An Emotional Thing, And Whatever Is Emotional Is Opposed To That True Cold Reason Which I Place Above All Things.

You Never Tire Of The Moor. You Cannot Think The Wonderful Secrets Which It Contains. It Is So Vast, And So Barren, And So Mysterious.