Feel Good About Linking Hands In Human

I Gave Up On New Poetry Myself 30 Years Ago When Most Of It Began To Read Like Coded Messages Passing Between Lonely Aliens In A Hostile World.

Usually, Terrible Things That Are Done With The Excuse That Progress Requires Them Are Not Really Progress At All, But Just Terrible Things.

Misery No Longer Loves Company. Nowadays It Insists On It.

There Are No Liberals Behind Steering Wheels.

After That [father's Death] I Never Cried With Any Real Conviction, Nor Expected Much Of Anyone's God Except Indifference, Nor Loved Deeply Without Fear That It Would Cost Me Dearly In Pain. At The Age Of Five I Had Become A Skeptic And Began To Sense That Any Happiness That Came My Way Might Be The Prelude To Some Grim Cosmic Joke.