Solitude Is The Salt Of Personhood. It

Where Joy In An Old Pencil Is Not Absurd.

We Saw The Strong Trees Struggle And Their Plumes Do Down, The Poplar Bend And Whip Back Till It Split To Fall, The Elm Tear Up At The Root And Topple Like A Crown, The Pine Crack At The Base - We Had To Watch Them All. The Ash, The Lovely Cedar. We Had To Watch Them Fall. They Went So Softly Under The Loud Flails Of Air, Before That Fury They Went Down Like Feathers, With All The Hundred Springs That Flowered In Their Hair, And All The Years, Endured In All The Weathers - To Fall As If They Were Nothing, As If They Were Feathers.

It Is The Privilege Of Those Who Fear Love To Murder Those Who Do Not Fear It!

It Takes A Long Time For Words To Become Thought.

They Are Commiting Murder Who Merely Live.