Poetry Is Talking On Tiptoe.

God's Rarest Blessing Is, After All, A Good Woman!

It's Past Parsons To Console Us: No, Nor No Doctor Fetch For Me: I Can Die Without My Bolus; Two Of A Trade, Lass, Never Agree! Parson And Doctor!--don't They Love Rarely Fighting The Devil In Other Men's Fields! Stand Up Yourself And Match Him Fairly: Then See How The Rascal Yields!

The Man Of Science Is Nothing If Not A Poet Gone Wrong.

A House With A Great Wine Stored Below Lives In Our Imagination As A Joyful House, Fast And Splendidly Rooted In The Soil.

Woman's Reason Is In The Milk Of Her Breasts.