I Go To School The Youth To

If Society Fits You Comfortably Enough, You Call It Freedom.

Ants Are A Curious Race

That Day She Put Our Heads Together, Fate Had Her Imagination About Her, Your Head So Much Concerned With Outer, Mine With Inner, Weather.

Nothing Not Built With Hands Of Course Is Sacred. But Here Is Not A Question Of What's Sacred; Rather Of What To Face Or Run Away From. I'd Hate To Be A Runaway From Nature.

The Rose Is A Rose, And Was Always A Rose. But The Theory Now Goes That The Apple's A Rose.