I Have Really Sinned. I Am Going

They Call Them The Haunted Shores, These Stretches Of Devonshire And Cornwall And Ireland Which Rear Up Against The Westward Ocean. Mists Gather Here, And Sea Fog, And Eerie Stories. That's Not Because There Are More Ghosts Here Than In Other Places, Mind You. It's Just That People Who Live Hereabouts Are Strangely Aware Of Them.

Extreme Happiness Invites Religion Almost As Much As Extreme Misery.

Topaz Was Wonderfully Patient - But Sometimes I Wonder If It Is Not Only Patience, But Also A Faint Resemblance To Cows.

Walking Down Belmotte Was The Oddest Sensation-- Every Step Took Us Deeper Into The Mist Until At Last It Closed Over Our Heads. It Was Like Being Drowned In The Ghost Of Water.

A Loss Of Sensibility Follows A Loss Of Innocence, At Once A Penalty And A Compensation.