What Song The Syrens Sang, Or What

I Could Be Content That We Might Procreate Like Trees, Without Conjunction, Or That We Were Any Way To Perpetuate The World Without This Trivial And Vulgar Way Of Coition; It Is The Foolishest Act A Wise Man Commits In All His Life.

That Miracles Have Been, I Do Believe; That They May Yet Be Wrought By The Living, I Do Not Deny: But Have No Confidence In Those Which Are Fathered On The Dead.

Yes, Even Amongst Wiser Militants, How Many Wounds Have Been Given, And Credits Slain, For The Poor Victory Of An Opinion, Or Beggarly Conquest Of A Distinction.

The Man Without A Navel Still Lives In Me.

All The Wonders You Seek Are Within Yourself.