Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable; deep memories yield no epitaphs - Herman Melville

Oh, thou clear spirit, of thy fire thou madest me, and like a true child of fire, I breathe it back to thee.

In this world of lies, Truth is forced to fly like a scared white doe in the woodlands; and only by cunning glimpses will she reveal herself, as in Shakespeare and other masters of the great Art of Telling the Truth, — even though it be covertly, and by snatches.

Now small fowls flew screaming over the yet yawning gulf; a sullen white surf beat against its steep sides; then all collapsed, and the great shroud of the sea rolled on as it rolled five thousand years ago.