Life Is Too Fleet For Onomatopoeia.

I Want A Lot To Eat, I'm Going To Think Today.

Yet Not With All Of Me Am I In Love. Too Much Of My Own Quietness Is With Me.

There Is A Kind Of Laughter That Sickens The Soul. Laughter When It Is Out Of Control: When It Screams And Stamps Its Feet, And Sets The Bells Jangling In The Next Town. Laughter In All Its Ignorance And Cruelty. Laughter With The Seed Of Satan In It. It Tramples Upon Shrines; The Belly-roarer. It Roars, It Yells, It Is Delirious: And Yet It Is As Cold As Ice. It Has No Humor. It Is Naked Noise And Naked Malice.

Why Break The Heart That Never Beat From Love?

For What Use Are Books To Anyone Whose Days Are Like A Rook's Nest With Every Twig A Duty.