I Hate You, God. I Hate You

Eternity Is Said Not To Be An Extension Of Time But An Absence Of Time.

Tea At College Was Served On Long Tables With An Urn At The End Of Each. Long Baguettes Of Bread, Three To A Table, Were Set Out With Meagre Portions Of Butter And Jam; The China Was Coarse To Withstand The Schoolboy-clutch And The Tea Strong. At The Hôtel De Paris I Was Astonished At The Fragility Of The Cups, The Silver Teapot, The Little Triangular Savoury Sandwiches, The éclairs Stuffed With Cream.

Unfortunately The Innocent Are Always Involved In Any Conflict. Always, Everywhere, There Is Some Voice Crying From A Tower.

He Was Like A Child With Haemophilia: Every Contact Drew Blood.

In The End There Is No Desire So Deep As The Simple Desire For Companionship.