Kisses Are A Better Fate Than Wisdom.

Love Being Such, Or Such, The Normal Corners Of Your Heart Will Never Guess How Much My Wonderful Jealousy Is Dark

Anyone Lived In A Pretty How Town (with Up So Floating Many Bells Down) Spring Summer Autumn Winter He Sang His Didn't He Danced His Did.

There Are Certain Things In Which One Is Unable To Believe For The Simple Reason That He Never Ceases To Feel Them. Things Of This Sort - Things Which Are Always Inside Of Us And In Fact Are Us And Which Consequently Will Not Be Pushed Off Or Away Where We Can Begin Thinking About Them - Are No Longer Things; They, And The Us Which They Are, Equals A Verb; An Is.

All In Green Went My Love Riding

What If A Much Of A Which Of A Wind Gives The Truth To Summer's Lie; Bloodies With Dizzying Leaves The Sun And Yanks Immortal Stars Awry?