I Am Like A Small Creature Swallowed

I Have Often Thought That With Any Luck At All I Could Have Been Born A Werewolf, Because The Two Middle Fingers On Both My Hands Are The Same Length, But I Have Had To Be Content With What I Had.

It Might Be Suggested, And Not Easily Disproven That Anything, No Matter How Exotic, Can Be Believed By Someone. On The Other Hand, Abstract Belief Is Largely Impossible; It Is The Concrete, The Actuality Of The Cup, The Candle, The Sacrificial Stone, Which Hardens Belief; The Statue Is Nothing Until It Cries, The Philosophy Is Nothing Until The Philosopher Is Martyred.

I Was Wondering About My Eyes; One Of My Eyes--the Left--saw Everything Golden And Yellow And Orange, And The Other Eye Saw Shades Of Blue And Grey And Green; Perhaps One Eye Was For Daylight And The Other Was For Night. If Everyone In The World Saw Different Colors From Different Eyes There Might Be A Great Many New Colors Still To Be Invented.

Within, Walls Continued Upright, Bricks Met Neatly, Floors Were Firm, And Doors Were Sensibly Shut; Silence Lay Steadily Against The Wood And Stone Of Hill House, And Whatever Walked There, Walked Alone.

In All The World There Is Not Someone Who Does Not Believe Something.