The Last Trumpet Ever To Be Sounded

Flora, Always Tall, Had Grown To Be Very Broad Too, And Short Of Breath; But That Was Not Much. Flora, Whom He Had Left A Lily, Had Become A Peony; But That Was Not Much. Flora, Who Had Seemed Enchanting In All She Said And Thought, Was Diffuse And Silly. That Was Much. Flora, Who Had Been Spoiled And Artless Long Ago, Was Determined To Be Spoiled And Artless Now. That Was A Fatal Blow.

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.

There Are Some Upon This Earth Of Yours,' Returned The Spirit, 'who Lay Claim To Know Us, And Who Do Their Deeds Of Passion, Pride, Ill-will, Hatred, Envy, Bigotry, And Selfishness In Our Name; Who Are As Strange To Us And All Our Kith And Kin, As If They Had Never Lived. Remember That, And Charge Their Doings On Themselves, Not Us.

I Don't Like That Sort Of School... Where The Bright Childish Imagination Is Utterly Discouraged... Where I Have Never Seen Among The Pupils, Whether Boys Or Girls, Anything But Little Parrots And Small Calculating Machines.

And I Am Bored To Death With It. Bored To Death With This Place, Bored To Death With My Life, Bored To Death With Myself.