The Man Who Fears War And Squats

I Would Hold The Rosy, Slender Fingers Of The Dawn For You.

What Thou Lovest Well Remains, The Rest Is Dross What Thou Lov'st Well Shall Not Be Reft From Thee What Thou Lov'st Well Is Thy True Heritage Whose World, Or Mine Or Theirs Or Is It Of None? First Came The Seen, Then Thus The Palpable Elysium, Though It Were In The Halls Of Hell. What Thou Lovest Well Is Thy True Heritage.

I Have Always Thought The Suicide Should Bump Off At Least One Swine Before Taking Off For Parts Unknown.

I Ask A Wreathwhich Will Not Crush My Head. And There Is No Hurry About It; I Shall Have, Doubtless, A Boom After My Funeral, Seeing That Long Standing Increases All Things Regardless Of Quality.

No Good Poetry Is Ever Written In A Manner Twenty Years Old, For To Write In Such A Manner Shows Conclusively That The Writer Thinks From Books, Convention And Cliché, Not From Real Life.