Of What I Call God, And Fools

God Is The Perfect Poet.

You Should Not Take A Fellow Eight Years Old And Make Him Swear To Never Kiss The Girls.

The Curious Crime, The Fine Felicity And Flower Of Wickedness.

And Inasmuch As Feeling, The East's Gift, Is Quick And Transient,- Comes, And Lo! Is Gone, While Northern Thought Is Slow And Durable.

The Best Way To Excape His Ire Is, Not To Seem Too Happy.