I meant to write about death, only life came breaking in as usual

The taste for books was an early one. As a child he was sometimes found at midnight by a page still reading. They took his taper away, and he bred glow-worms to serve his purpose. They took the glow-worms away and he almost burnt the house down with a tinder.

Still, the sun was hot. Still, one got over things. Still, life had a way of adding day to day

For once the disease of reading has laid upon the system it weakens so that it falls an easy prey to that other scourge which dwells in the ink pot and festers in the quill. The wretch takes to writing.

How can I express the darkness?

Let us record the atoms as they fall upon the mind in the order in which they fall.

One of the signs of passing youth is the birth of a sense of fellowship with other human beings as we take our place among them.