Places Remember Events.

Bury The Dead. Say Robinson Crusoe Was True To Life. Well Then Friday Buried Him. Every Friday Buries A Thursday If You Come To Look At It.

The Apprehensive Faculty Must Be Scrutinised In Action.

His Heart Danced Upon Her Movements Like A Cork Upon A Tide. He Heard What Her Eyes Said To Him From Beneath Their Cowl And Knew That In Some Dim Past, Whether In Life Or Revery, He Had Heard Their Tale Before.

Hold To The Now, The Here, Through Which All Future Plunges To The Past.

The Heaventree Of Stars Hung With Humid Nightblue Fruit.