O Maternal Earth Which Rocks The Fallen

The Dust's For Crawling, Heaven's For Flying, Wherefore, O Soul, Whose Wings Are Grown, Soar Upward To The Sun!

Beware Of The Man Who Rises To Power From One Suspender.

The Earth Keeps Some Vibration Going There In Your Heart, And That Is You. And If The People Find You Can Fiddle, Why Fiddle You Must, For All Your Life.

The Much-sought Prize Of Eternal Youth Is Just Arrested Growth.

How Shall The Soul Of A Man Be Larger Than The Life He Has Lived?