If I see an ending, I can work backward.
A little man makes a mistake and they hang him by the thumbs; the big ones become ambassadors.
The Devil is precise; the marks of his presence are definite as stone.
Where choice begins, Paradise ends, innocence ends, for what is Paradise but the absence of any need to choose this action?
PROCTOR, his mind wild, breathless: I say--I say--God is dead!
most of the time we settle for half and i like it better, even as i know how wrong he was and his death useless, i tremble for i confess that something peversley pure calls to me from his memory