Aside he flung his sunly symbols. Like a falling star, from the Vale of Gods He dropp'd, like a falling star shot through the Shoreless space; like a golden morning reach'd The earth, —reach'd the lake.

Wine gets me a different type of shlitty 😎😎

[…] they have so deep a resentment [i.e. impression] of the most affecting objects, whose images therefore recur to the fancy when they are asleep

As he passed though the station, he slowed to yell to the signalman, Frank 'Sailor' Bridges: Sailor - have you anything between here and Fordham? Where's the mail? Gimbert knew the mail train was due, and he didn't want to endanger another train with his burning bomb wagon.