Space Is To Place As Eternity Is

Sexes. One Has The Look Of A Wound, The Other Of Something Skinned.

There Are Some Heads Which Have No Windows, And The Day Can Never Strike From Above; Nothing Enters From Heavenard.

We Disjoint The Mind Like The Body.

The Voice Is A Human Sound Which Nothing Inanimate Can Perfectly Imitate. It Has An Authority And An Insinuating Property Which Writing Lacks. It Is Not Merely So Much Air, But Air Modulated And Impregnated With Life.

Those Readiest To Criticise Are Often Least Able To Appreciate.