Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee.

I Admire The Attention Other Writers Can Give To The World We're Walking In.

You Can Take Off Your Hats Now, Gentlemen, And I Think Perhaps You'd Better.

We Do Not Fight For The Real But For Shadows We Make. A Flag Is A Piece Of Cloth And A Word Is A Sound, But We Make Them Something Neither Cloth Nor A Sound, Totems Of Love And Hate, Black Sorcery-stones.

And Thames And All The Rivers Of The Kings Ran Into Mississippi And Were Drowned. They Planted England With A Stubborn Trust But The Cleft Dust Was Never English Dust.

Dreaming Men Are Haunted Men.