Old Stories Often Turn Out

It Was Better, He Thought, To Fail In Attempting Exquisite Things Than To Succeed In The Department Of The Utterly Contemptible.

If A Man Dreams That He Has Committed A Sin Before Which The Sun Hid His Face, It Is Often Safe To Conjecture That, In Sheer Forgetfulness, He Wore A Red Tie, Or Brown Boots With Evening Dress.

There Are Sacraments Of Evil As Well As Of Good About Us, And We Live And Move To My Belief In An Unknown World, A Place Where There Are Caves And Shadows And Dwellers In Twilight. It Is Possible That Man May Sometimes Return On The Track Of Evolution, And It Is My Belief That An Awful Lore Is Not Yet Dead.

And There Were Other Rocks That Were Like Animals, Creeping, Horrible Animals, Putting Out Their Tongues, And Others Were Like Words I Could Not Say, And Others Like Dead People Lying On The Grass. I Went On Among Them, Though They Frightened Me, And My Heart Was Full Of Wicked Song They Put Into It; And I Wanted To Make Faces And Twist Myself About The Way They Did, And I Went On And On A Long Way Till At Last I Liked The Rocks And They Didn’t Frighten Me Any More

Here Then Is The Pattern In My Carpet, The Sense Of The Eternal Mysteries, The Eternal Beauty Hidden Beneath The Crust Of Common And Commonplace Things; Hidden And Yet Burning And Glowing Continually If You Care To Look With Purged Eyes.