The Artist In Me Cries Out For

If The Day Ever Comes When They Know Who They Are, They May Know Better Where They Are.

Why Make So Much Of Fragmentary Blue In Here And There A Bird, Or Butterfly, Or Flower, Or Wearing-stone, Or Open Eye, When Heaven Presents In Sheets The Solid Hue?

Poetry Is What Is Lost In Translation. It Is Also What Is Lost In Interpretation.

There Is One Thing More Exasperating Than A Wife Who Can Cook And Won't, And That's A Wife Who Can't Cook And Will.

Freedom Is Slavery Some Poets Tell Us. Enslave Yourself To The Right Leader's Truth, Christ's Or Karl Marx', And It Will Set You Free.