It Is In This Unearthly First Hour

Reason Can Never Reconcile One To Life: Nothing Allays The Wants One Cannot Explain.

... Love Dreads Being Isolated, Being Left To Speak In A Void -- At The Beginning It Would Often Rather Listen Than Speak.

Without Fiction, Either Life Would Be Insufficient Or The Winds From The North Would Blow Too Cold.

Grown-up People Seem To Be Busy By Clockwork... They Run Their Unswerving Course From Object To Object, Directed By Some Mysterious Inner Needle That Points All The Time To What They Must Do Next. You Can Only Marvel At Such Misuse Of Time.

This, My First [bicycle] Had An Intrinsic Beauty. And It Opened For Me An Era Of All But Flying, Which Roads Emptily Crossing Theairy, Gold-gorsy Common Enhanced. Nothing Since Has Equalled That Birdlike Freedom.