Where Is All The Knowledge We Lost

Uncorseted, Her Friendly Bust Gives Promise Of Pneumatic Bliss.

Although I Do Not Hope To Turn Again Although I Do Not Hope Although I Do Not Hope To Turn

I Grow Old … I Grow Old … I Shall Wear The Bottoms Of My Trousers Rolled.

Every End Is A Beginning...and Every Beginning Is An End.

Probably, Indeed, The Larger Part Of The Labor Of An Author Composing His Work Is Critical Labor; The Labor Of Sifting, Combining, Constructing, Expunging, Correcting, Testing. This Frightful Toil Is As Much Critical As Creative.