On Me Your Voice Falls As They

And Immediately Rather Than Words Comes The Thought Of High Windows: The Sun-comprehending Glass, And Beyond It, The Deep Blue Air, That Shows Nothing, And Is Nowhere, And Is Endless.

Life Is First Boredom, Then Fear. Whether Or Not We Use It, It Goes, And Leaves What Something Hidden From Us Chose, And Age, And Then The Only End Of Age.

Saki Says That Youth Is Like Hors D'oeuvres: You Are So Busy Thinking Of The Next Courses You Don't Notice It. When You've Had Them, You Wish You'd Had More Hors D'oeuvres.

Everyone Should Be Forcibly Transplanted To Another Continent From Their Family At The Age Of Three.

I Think That At The Bottom Of All Art Lies The Impulse To Preserve.