Huge Knots Of Sea-weed Hung Upon The

Repression Is The Only Lasting Philosophy. The Dark Deference Of Fear And Slavery, My Friend, Will Keep The Dogs Obedient To The Whip, As Long As This Roof Shuts Out The Sky.

Thus, It Comes To Pass, That A Certain Room In A Certain Old Hall, Where A Certain Bad Lord, Baronet, Knight, Or Gentleman, Shot Himself, Has Certain Planks In The Floor From Which The Blood Will Not Be Taken Out. You May Scrape And Scrape, As The Present Owner Has Done, Or Plane And Plane, As His Father Did, Or Scrub And Scrub, As His Grandfather Did, Or Burn And Burn With Strong Acids, As His Great-grandfather Did, But, There The Blood Will Still Be - No Redder And No Paler - No More And No Less - Always Just The Same.

Why Am I Always At War With Myself? Why Have I Told, As If Upon Compulsion, What I Knew All Along I Ought To Have Withheld? Why Am I Making A Friend Of This Woman Beside Me, In Spite Of The Whispers Against Her That I Hear In My Heart?

God Bless Us Every One! Said Tiny Tim, The Last Of All.

It Was The Best Of Times, It Was The Worst Of Times, It Was The Age Of Wisdom, It Was The Age Of Foolishness, It Was The Epoch Of Belief, It Was The Epoch Of Incredulity, It Was The Season Of Light, It Was The Season Of Darkness, It Was The Spring Of Hope, It Was The Winter Of Despair.