Mercedes nursed a special grievance - the grievance of sex. She was pretty and soft, and had been chivalrously treated all her days. But the present treatment by her husband and brother was everything save chivalrous. It was her custom to be helpless. They complained. Upon which impeachment of what to her was her most essential sex pregorative, she made their lives unendurable.

He was a silent fury who no torment could tame.

He was sounding the deeps of his nature, and of the parts of his nature that were deeper than he, going back into the womb of Time.

It is good that man should accept at face value the cheats of sense and snares of flesh, and through the fogs of sentiency pursue the lures and lies of passion.

There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive.

Then one can't make a living out of poetry? Certainly not. What fool expects to? Out of rhyming, yes.

Kill or be killed, eat or be eaten, was the law; and this mandate, down out of the depths of Time.