Love Me. Love My Umbrella.

Terence O'ryan Heard Him And Straightway Brought Him A Crystal Cup Full Of The Foaming Ebon Ale Which The Noble Twin Brothers Bungiveagh And Bungardilaun Brew Ever In Their Divine Alevats, Cunning As The Sons Of Deathless Leda. For They Garner The Succulent Berries Of The Hop And Mass And Sift And Bruise And Brew Them And They Mix Therewith Sour Juices And Bring The Must To The Sacred Fire And Cease Not Night Or Day From Their Toil, Those Cunning Brothers, Lords Of The Vat.

The State Is Concentric, But The Individual Is Eccentric.

The Important Thing Is Not What We Write But How We Write, And In My Opinion The Modern Writer Must Be An Adventurer Above All, Willing To Take Every Risk, And Be Prepared To Founder In His Effort If Need Be. In Other Words We Must Write Dangerously

Thought Is The Thought Of Thought.

[...] A Darkness Shining In Brightness Which Brightness Could Not Comprehend.