I Have Felt Lately, More And More,

Done Because We Are Too Many.

War Makes Rattling Good History.

That Cold Accretion Called The World, So Terrible In The Mass, Is So Non Formidable, Even Pitiable, In Its Units.

He Knelt And Bent Lower, Till Her Breath Warmed His Face, And In A Moment His Cheek Was In Contact With Hers. She Was Sleeping Soundly, And Upon Her Eyelashes There Lingered Tears.

A Lover Without Indiscretion Is No Lover At All.