Pathos-Bathos

These tears work well their Machiavellian craft. They blur my vision, clog my nostrils like a vice, constrict my voice and finally confound my countenance, debauch my dignity, I'll have no more of them! This faithless wash is ended with a firmer grasp upon a solid staff of reason, my defense when sentiment and tenderness assail the fortress of my heart. In all the years remaining shall I then create a fortitude contemptuous of fears, and no regret? Will I ever understand again the meaning of humanity. the truth implicit in the arts? And, will I never see the stars at noon, or capture in my chest that rush of aching splendor that a smiling child imparts? And with my intellect, and on my cheek, I know. ~