I am not ready yet. I might be insane. I kind of like this place. I sometimes even like the people in it. I am a warrior, sent forth by those that can, to defeat my nemesis Mrs Hart and free this world from her tyranny and hoovering. I worship the teabag and occasionally the blue juice. These are my truths, use them wisely.
One face looks out from all his canvases, One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans: We found her hidden just behind those screens, That mirror gave back all her loveliness. A Queen in opal or in ruby dress, A nameless girl in freshest summer-greens, A saint, an angel – every canvas means The same one meaning, neither more nor less. He feeds upon her face by day and night, And she with true kind eyes looks back on him, Fair as the moon and joyful as the light: Not wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim; Not as she is, but was when hope shone bright; Not as she is, but as she fills his dream.