But It Is Not For The Perfect

In Hatred As In Love, We Grow Like The Thing We Brood Upon. What We Loathe, We Graft Into Our Very Soul.

Clouds Of Black Birds Rose Up Wailing And Screaming, Like The Thoughts Of My Heart.

There Is Madness In Youth, But Sometimes A God Inspires It.

In All Men Is Evil Sleeping; The Good Man Is He Who Will Not Awaken It, In Himself Or In Other Men.

Miss Searle Had Always Considered Boredom An Intellectual Defeat.