Perfection, In Anything, Is Unbearably Dull. Myself,

Belief Doesn't Rest On Proof Or Existence...it Rests On Faith...without Faith There Is Nothing.

Twelve Thousand Miles Of It, To The Other Side Of The World. And Whether They Came Home Again Or Not, They Would Belong Neither Here, Nor There, For They Would Have Lived On Two Continents And Sampled Two Different Ways Of Life.

What Was Sleep? A Blessing, A Respite From Life, An Echo Of Death, A Demanding Nuisance?

Truly God Was Good, To Make Man So Blind.

Best Of All She Liked His Eyes, Such A Translucent Golden Brown, And So Laughing.