The Mind Is Its Own Beautiful Prisoner.

The Eyes Of My Eyes Are Opened.

When Skies Are Hanged And Oceans Drowned, The Single Secret Will Still Be Man

There's Time For Laughing And There's Time For Crying— For Hoping For Despair For Peace For Longing —a Time For Growing And A Time For Dying: A Night For Silence And A Day For Singing But More Than All(as All Your More Than Eyes Tell Me)there Is A Time For Timelessness

At Least The Pilgrim Fathers Used To Shoot Indians: The Pilgrim Children Merely Punch Time Clocks.

Who Knows If The Moon's / A Balloon, Coming Out Of A Keen City / In The Sky - Filled With Pretty People?