The War Grows in Brooklyn
The War Grows in Brooklyn
Watched was a word you could put to this world. Especially as men busied themselves about their various concerns. Scrutinized was a better word. But it did not apply to the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. Infinite complacency was lovely and serene had a beautiful sound, but you couldn't fit those words into mankind's empire over matter. Watched was the only word for it; especially in the last years of the nineteenth century.
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
Serene was a word you could put to Brooklyn, New York. Especially in the summer of 1912. Somber, as a word, was better. But it did not apply to Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Prairie was lovely and Shenandoah had a beautiful sound, but you couldn't fit those words into Brooklyn. Serene was the only word for it; especially on a Saturday afternoon late in summer.
The War of the Worlds
No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinised and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. With infinite complacency men went to and fro over this globe about their little affairs, serene in their assurance of their empire over matter.
Watched was a word you could put to this world. Especially as men busied themselves about their various concerns. Scrutinized was a better word. But it did not apply to the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. Infinite complacency was lovely and serene had a beautiful sound, but you couldn't fit those words into mankind's empire over matter. Watched was the only word for it; especially in the last years of the nineteenth century.
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
Serene was a word you could put to Brooklyn, New York. Especially in the summer of 1912. Somber, as a word, was better. But it did not apply to Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Prairie was lovely and Shenandoah had a beautiful sound, but you couldn't fit those words into Brooklyn. Serene was the only word for it; especially on a Saturday afternoon late in summer.
The War of the Worlds
No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinised and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. With infinite complacency men went to and fro over this globe about their little affairs, serene in their assurance of their empire over matter.