We Forge The Chains We Wear In

For Your Popular Rumour, Unlike The Rolling Stone Of The Proverb, Is One Which Gathers A Deal Of Moss In Its Wanderings Up And Down.

It Is Not Easy To Walk Alone In The Country Without Musing Upon Something.

On Summer Evenings, When Every Flower, And Tree, And Bird, Might Have Better Addressed My Soft Young Heart, I Have In My Day Been Caught In The Palm Of A Female Hand By The Crown, Have Been Violently Scrubbed From The Neck To The Roots Of The Hair As A Purification For The Temple, And Have Then Been Carried Off Highly Charged With Saponaceous Electricity, To Be Steamed Like A Potato In The Unventilated Breath Of The Powerful Boanerges Boiler And His Congregation, Until What Small Mind I Had, Was Quite Steamed Out Of Me

She Had Gained A Reputation For Beauty, And (which Is Often Another Thing) Was Beautiful.

Philosophers Are Only Men In Armor After All.