Abode where lost bodies roam each searching for its lost one.

Mysterious affair, electricity.

We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries. But habit is a great deadener.

Don’t wait to be hunted to hide, that was always my motto.

Yes, light, there is no other word for it.

Hold the old holding hand. Hold and be held. Plod on and never recede. Slowly with never a pause plod on and never recede.

When the object is perceived as particular and unique and not merely the member of a family, when it appears independent of any general notion and detached from the sanity of a cause, isolated and inexplicable in the light of ignorance, then and only then may it be a source of enchantment.