The First Book Is The Book You

No Live Organism Can Continue For Long To Exist Sanely Under Conditions Of Absolute Reality.

On The Moon We Wore Feathers In Our Hair, And Rubies On Our Hands. On The Moon We Had Gold Spoons.

Journeys End In Lovers Meeting; I Have Spent An All But Sleepless Night, I Have Told Lies And Made A Fool Of Myself, And The Very Air Tastes Like Wine. I Have Been Frightened Half Out Of My Foolish Wits, But I Have Somehow Earned This Joy; I Have Been Waiting For It For So Long.

I Suppose, I Hoped, By Setting A Particularly Brutal Ancient Rite In The Present And In My Own Village To Shock The Story's Readers With A Graphic Dramatization Of The Pointless Violence And General Inhumanity In Their Own Lives.

I Really Think I Shall Commence Chapter Forty-four," He Said, Patting His Hands Together. "i Shall Commence, I Think, With A Slight Exaggeration And Go On From There Into An Outright Lie. Constance, My Dear?" "yes, Uncle Julian?" "i Am Going To Say That My Wife Was A Beautiful Woman.