Not Until It Starts To Stink Does

Silly Girls Your Heads Full Of Boys

The Soul Establishes Itself. But How Far Can It Swim Out Through The Eyes And Still Return Safely To Its Nest?

Its A Bit Mad. Too Bad, I Mean, That Getting To Know Each Just For A Fleeting Second Must Be Replaced By Unperfect Knowledge Of The Featureless Whole Like Some Pocket History Of The World, So General As To Constitute A Sob Or Wail

We Are Prisoners Of The World's Demented Sink. The Soft Enchantments Of Our Years Of Innocence Are Harvested By Accredited Experience Our Fondest Memories Soon Turn To Poison And Only Oblivion Remains In Season.

It Never Seems To Occur To Anyone That Each Reader Is Different, And That Even Those Who Might Be Said To Resemble Each Other Will Each Bring An Individual Set Of Experiences And References To Their Reading, And Interpret And Misinterpret It According To These.