History Is That Nightmare From Which There

One Great Part Of Every Human Existence Is Passed In A State Which Cannot Be Rendered Sensible By The Use Of Wideawake Language, Cutanddry Grammar And Goahead Plot.

A Certain Pride, A Certain Awe, Withheld Him From Offering To God Even One Prayer At Night, Though He Knew It Was In God's Power To Take Away His Life While He Slept And Hurl His Soul Hellward Ere He Could Beg For Mercy.

Signatures Of All Things I Am Here To Read.

If It Is Thus, I Ask Emphatically Whence Comes This Thusness.

Stately, Plump Buck Mulligan Came From The Stairhead, Bearing A Bowl Of Lather On Which A Mirror And A Razor Lay Crossed.