The Evolution Of Sense Is, In A

Beauty Plus Pity -- That Is The Closest We Can Get To A Definition Of Art.

Time Is Rhythm: The Insect Rhythm Of A Warm Humid Night, Brain Ripple, Breathing, The Drum In My Temple—these Are Our Faithful Timekeepers; And Reason Corrects The Feverish Beat.

I Talk In A Daze, I Walk In A Maze I Cannot Get Out, Said The Starling

I Confess, I Do Not Believe In Time.

I Was The Shadow Of The Waxwing Slain/by The False Azure In The Windowpane.