Echo

The echo began in some indescribable way to undermine her hold on life ... it had managed to murmur, 'Pathos, piety, courage-they exist, but are identical, and so is filth. Everything exists, nothing has value.'

-E. M. Forster (1879-1970)

O Rose, thou art sick!

The invisible worm

That flies in the night,

In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed

Of crimson joy:

And his dark secret love

Does thy life destroy.

-William Blake (1757-1827)