Silence Is Not Weakness And Decency Is

Very Softly, But Very Swiftly, Last, The Man With The Grey Face And The Staring Eyes, Bolted For His Life, Down And Away From The White House. Once In The Road, Free From The Fields And Brakes, He Changed His Run Into A Walk, And He Never Paused Or Stopped, Till He Came With A Gulp Of Relief Into The Ugly Streets Of The Big Industrial Town. He Made Hi Way To The Station At Once, And Found That He Was An Hour Too Soon For The London Express. So, There Was Plenty Of Time For Breakfast; Which Consisted Of Brandy.

It Appears To Me That It [sin] Is Simply An Attempt To Penetrate Into Another And Higher Sphere In A Forbidden Manner. You Can Understand Why It Is So Rare. There Are Few, Indeed, Who Wish To Penetrate Into Other Spheres, Higher Or Lower, In Ways Allowed Or Forbidden. Men, In The Mass, Are Amply Content With Life As They Find It. Therefore There Are Few Saints, And Sinners (in The Proper Sense) Are Fewer Still.

Here Then Is The Pattern In My Carpet, The Sense Of The Eternal Mysteries, The Eternal Beauty Hidden Beneath The Crust Of Common And Commonplace Things; Hidden And Yet Burning And Glowing Continually If You Care To Look With Purged Eyes.

We Both Wondered Whether These Contradictions That One Can't Avoid If One Begins To Think Of Time And Space May Not Really Be Proofs That The Whole Of Life Is A Dream, And The Moon And Stars Bits Of Nightmare.

If A Man Dreams That He Has Committed A Sin Before Which The Sun Hid His Face, It Is Often Safe To Conjecture That, In Sheer Forgetfulness, He Wore A Red Tie, Or Brown Boots With Evening Dress.