Repression Is The Only Lasting Philosophy. The

It Was Very Dark; But In The Murky Sky There Were Masses Of Cloud Which Shone With A Lurid Light, Like Monstrous Heaps Of Copper That Had Been Heated In A Furnace, And Were Growing Cold.

Take The Pencil And Write Under My Name, 'i Forgive Her.

I Verily Believe That Her Not Remembering And Not Minding In The Least, Made Me Cry Again, Inwardly - And That Is The Sharpest Crying Of All.

I Can See Others In The Sunlight; I Can See Our Boats' Crews And Our Athletic Young Men On The Glistening Water, Or Speckled With The Moving Lights Of Sunlit Leaves; But I Myself Am Always In The Shadow Looking On. Not Unsympathetically, - God Forbid! - But Looking On Alone, Much As I Looked At Sylvia From The Shadows Of The Ruined House, Or Looked At The Red Gleam Shining Through The Farmer's Windows, And Listened To The Fall Of Dancing Feet, When All The Ruin Was Dark That Night In The Quadrangle.

I Have A Heart To Be Stabbed In Or Shot In, I Have No Doubt, And, Of Course, If It Ceased To Beat, I Would Cease To Be. But You Know What I Mean. I Have No Softness There, No—sympathy—sentiment—nonsense.