Of Writing Many Books There Is No

"there Is No God," The Foolish Saith, But None, "there Is No Sorrow." And Nature Oft The Cry Of Faith In Bitter Need Will Borrow: Eyes Which The Preacher Could Not School, By Wayside Graves Are Raised; And Lips Say, "god Be Pitiful," Who Ne'er Said, "god Be Praised."

Every Wish Is Like A Prayer--with God.

The Plague Of Gold Strikes Far And Near.

I Love You For The Part Of Me That You Bring Out.

Purple Lilies Dante Blew To A Larger Bubble With His Prophet Breath.