Old Age Transfigures Or Fossilizes.

Those Whom We Support Hold Us Up In Life.

Misanthropy Is A Suit Of Armor Lined With Thorns.

The Incurable Ills Are The Imaginary Ills.

When The Time Comes In Which One Could, The Time Has Passed In Which One Can.

We Ask The Poet: 'what Subject Have You Chosen?' Instead Of: 'what Subject Has Chosen You?