I Gazed At Every Mirror On The

The Art Of Writing Is Mysterious, The Opinions We Hold Are Ephemeral.

I Ask Of Any God, Of Any Gods, That If They Give Immortality, I Hope To Be Granted Oblivion Also.

Emma Dropped The Paper. Her First Impression Was Of A Weak Feeling In Her Stomach And In Her Knees; Then Of Blind Guilt, Of Unreality, Of Coldness, Of Fear; Then She Wished That It Were Already The Next Day. Immediately Afterwards She Realized That That Wish Was Futile Because The Death Of Her Father Was The Only Thing That Had Happened In The World, And It Would Go On Happening Endlessly.

I Will Pause To Consider This Eternity From Which The Subsequent Ones Derive.

I Have Committed The Worst Of Sins One Can Commit... I Have Not Been Happy.