Today's Stichomancy for Famke Janssen

To the like innocent Cradle, where Phenix like They dide in perfume: on my head no toy But was her patterne; her affections (pretty, Though, happely, her careles were) I followed For my most serious decking; had mine eare Stolne some new aire, or at adventure humd on From musicall Coynadge, why it was a note Whereon her spirits would sojourne (rather dwell on) And sing it in her slumbers. This rehearsall (Which ev'ry innocent wots well comes in Like old importments bastard) has this end,

reckless, resolute merriment in the jovial face of the friar,-- and the cheerful, elastic spirits that played on the lips and sparkled in the eyes of Matilda,--would have presented a very amusing combination to Sir Ralph, if one of the three images in the group had not absorbed his total attention with feelings of intense delight very nearly allied to pain. The baron's wrath was somewhat counteracted by the reflection that his daughter's good spirits seemed to show that they would naturally rise triumphant over all disappointments; and he had had sufficient experience of her humour to know that she might sometimes be led, but never could be driven.

before you could move in a fashionable crowd without jostling against your betters, whom it is against etiquette to ask to "feel", and who, by their superior culture and breeding, know all about your movements, while you know very little or nothing about theirs. In a word, to comport oneself with perfect propriety in Polygonal society, one ought to be a Polygon oneself. Such at least is the painful teaching of my experience.

It is astonishing how much the Art -- or I may almost call it instinct -- of Sight Recognition is developed by the habitual practice of it and by the avoidance of the custom of "Feeling". Just as, with you, the deaf and dumb, if once allowed to gesticulate and to use

Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions

of the subject from common speech and visible records. And always the shadow of nameless fear hung bout the sealed trap-doors and the dark, windowless elder towers. V That is the world of which my dreams brought me dim, scattered echoes every night. I cannot hope to give any true idea of the horror and dread contained in such echoes, for it was upon a wholly intangible quality - the sharp sense of pseudo-memory - that such feelings mainly depended.

As I have said, my studies gradually gave me a defence against these feelings in the form of rational psychological explanations;

Shadow out of Time