The Voices Blend And Fuse In Clouded

His Eyes Were Dimmed With Tears And, Looking Humbly Up To Heaven, He Wept For The Innocence He Had Lost.

I Shall Write A Book Some Day About The Appropriateness Of Names. Geoffrey Chaucer Has A Ribald Ring, As Is Proper And Correct, And Alexander Pope Was Inevitably Alexander Pope. Colley Cibber Was A Silly Little Man Without Much Elegance And Shelley Was Very Percy And Very Bysshe.

Her Image Had Passed Into His Soul For Ever And No Word Had Broken The Holy Silence Of His Ecstasy. Her Eyes Had Called Him And His Soul Had Leaped At The Call. To Live, To Err, To Fall, To Triumph, To Recreate Life Out Of Life! A Wild Angel Had Appeared To Him, The Angel Of Mortal Youth And Beauty, An Envoy From The Fair Courts Of Life, To Throw Open Before Him In An Instant Of Ecstasy The Gates Of All The Ways Of Error And Glory. On And On And On And On!

Death, A Cause Of Terror To The Sinner, Is A Blessed Moment For Him Who Has Walked In The Right Path.

History Is That Nightmare From Which There Is No Awakening.