Because You Cannot See Him, God Is

I Suppose Even A Woman's Hatred Is A Kind Of Love.

I Wonder What The Retirement Age Is In The Novel Business. The Day You Die.

The Winter Moon Becomes A Companion, The Heart Of The Priest, Sunk In Meditation Upon Religion And Philosophy, There In The Mountain Hall, Is Engaged In A Delicate Interplay And Exchange With The Moon; And It Is This Of Which The Poet Sings.

Lunatics Have No Age. If We Were Crazy, You And I, We Might Be A Great Deal Younger.

It's Remarkable How We Go On Year After Year, Doing The Same Old Things. We Get Tired And Bored, And Ask When They'll Come For Us