All fled—all done, so lift me on the pyre— The Feast is over, and the lamps expire.

All fled—all done, so lift me on the pyre— The Feast is over, and the lamps expire.

I live, I burn with life, I love, I slay, & am content.

I think the real reason so many youngsters are clamoring for freedom of some vague sort, is because of unrest and dissatisfaction with present conditions; I don't believe this machine age gives full satisfaction in a spiritual way, if the term may be allowed.

The sea-road is good for wanderers and landless men. There is quenching of thirst on the grey paths of the winds, and the flying clouds to still the sting of lost dreams.

Hither came Conan, the Cimmerian, black-haired, sullen-eyed, sword in hand, a thief, a reaver, a slayer, with gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirth, to tread the jeweled thrones of the Earth under his sandaled feet.

I'm not going out of my way looking for devils; but I wouldn't step out of my path to let one go by.