The Denunciation Of The Young Is A

There Is More Felicity On The Far Side Of Baldness Than Young Men Can Possibly Imagine.

An Echo Of Music, A Face In The Street, The Wafer Of The New Moon, A Wanton Thought - Only In The Iridescence Of Things The Vagabond Soul Is Happy.

Growing Old Is Not A Gradual Decline, But A Series Of Drops, Full Of Sorrow, From One Ledge To Another Below It.

All My Life, As Down An Abyss Without A Bottom. I Have Been Pouring Van Loads Of Information Into That Vacancy Of Oblivion I Call My Mind.

Only Among People Who Think No Evil Can Evil Monstrously Flourish.