Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.

Moon! Moon! I am prone before you. Pity me, and drench me in loneliness.

For books are more than books, they are the life, the very heart and core of ages past, the reason why men worked and died, the essence and quintessence of their lives.

For books are more than books, they are the life
The very heart and core of ages past,
The reason why men lived and worked and died,
The essence and quintessence of their lives.

A black cat among roses,
phlox, lilac-misted under a quarter moon,
the sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock. The garden is very still.
It is dazed with moonlight,
contented with perfume...

Let us be of cheer, remembering that the misfortunes hardest to bear are those which never come.