We Are But Skin About

I Have A Narrative, But You Will Be Put To It To Find It.

Love Becomes The Deposit Of The Heart, Analogous In All Degrees To The 'findings' In A Tomb. As In One Will Be Charted The Taken Place Of The Body, The Raiment, The Utensils Necessary To Its Other Life, So In The Heart Of The Lover Will Be Traced, As An Indelible Shadow, That Which He Loves.

One Must Not Look Inward Too Much, While The Inside Is Yet Tender. I Do Not Wish To Frighten Myself Until I Can Stand It.

We Are But Skin About A Wind, With Muscles Clenched Against Mortality.

Love Is The First Lie; Wisdom The Last.