But I Like It Because It Is

When The Prophet, A Complacent Fat Man, Arrived At The Mountain-top He Cried: "woe To My Knowledge! I Intended To See Good White Lands And Bad Black Lands— But The Scene Is Grey.

Everything Is Bicycle.

Such An Assemblage Of The Spraddle-legged Men Of The Middle Class, Whose Hands Were Bent And Shoulders Stooped From Delving And Constructing, Had Never Appeared To An Asbury Park Summer Crowd, And The Latter Was Vaguely Amused.

A Serious Prophet Upon Predicting A Flood Should Be The First Man To Climb A Tree. This Would Demonstrate That He Was Indeed A Seer.

The Word Is Clear Only To The Kind Who On Peak Or Plain, From Dark Northern Ice-fields To The Hot Wet Jungles, Through All Wine And Want, Through Lies And Unfamiliar Truth, Dark Or Light, Are Governed By The Unknown Gods, And Though Each Man Knows The Law, No Man May Give Tongue To It.