Barbarism Is The Natural State Of Mankind.

It Is Not Pleasant To Come Upon Death In A Lonely Place At Midnight.

Rome Got Some Peachy Pastings When She Tried To Lick The Irish.

What Do I Know Of Cultured Ways, The Gilt, The Craft And The Lie? I, Who Was Born In A Naked Land And Bred In The Open Sky. The Subtle Tongue, The Sophist Guile, They Fail When The Broadswords Sing; Rush In And Die, Dogs—i Was A Man Before I Was A King.

I Live, I Burn With Life, I Love, I Slay, & Am Content.

Don't You Think That As A People, Americans Have Less Poetry, Real Poetry, In Their Souls Than Any Other Nations?