Life, The Permission To Know Death.

A Man Is Whole Only When He Takes Into Account His Shadow As Well As Himself - And What Is A Man's Shadow But His Upright Astonishment?

This Head Has Risen Above Its Hair In A Moment Of Abandon Known Only To Men Who Have Drawn Their Feet Out Of Their Boots To Walk Awhile In The Corridors Of The Mind.

Love Becomes The Deposit Of The Heart, Analogous In All Degrees To The 'findings' In A Tomb. As In One Will Be Charted The Taken Place Of The Body, The Raiment, The Utensils Necessary To Its Other Life, So In The Heart Of The Lover Will Be Traced, As An Indelible Shadow, That Which He Loves.

And Must I, Perchance, Like Careful Writers, Guard Myself Against The Conclusions Of My Readers?

We Are Adhering To Life Now With Our Last Muscle - The Heart.