He Passes, Struck By The Stare Of

White Pudding And Eggs And Sausages And Cups Of Tea! How Simple And Beautiful Was Life After All!

Sometimes He Caught Himself Listening To The Sound Of His Own Voice. He Thought That In Her Eyes He Would Ascent To An Angelical Stature; And, As He Attached The Fervent Nature Of His Companion More And More Closely To Him, He Heard The Strange Impersonal Voice Which He Recognised As His Own, Insisting On The Soul's Incurable Lonliness. We Cannot Give Ourselves, It Said: We Are Our Own.

Love Loves To Love Love.

And The First Till Last Alshemist Wrote Over Every Square Inch Of The Only Foolscap Available, His Own Body, Till By Its Corrosive Sublimation One Continuous Present Tense Integument Slowly Unfolded All Marryvoising Moodmoulded Cyclewheeling History.

You Made Me Confess The Fears That I Have. But I Will Tell You Also What I Do Not Fear. I Do Not Fear To Be Alone Or To Be Spurned For Another Or To Leave Whatever I Have To Leave. And I Am Not Afraid To Make A Mistake, Even A Great Mistake, A Lifelong Mistake And Perhaps As Long As Eternity Too.