The Music Is In Minors.

First Fight. Then Fiddle.

I Think It Must Be Lonely To Be God. Nobody Loves A Master. No.

As You Get Older, You Find That Often The Wheat, Disentangling Itself From The Chaff, Comes Out To Meet You.

The Civil Rights Situation Is Like A Pregnancy. It Will Get Worse, I Believe, Before It Gets Better. What The Usual Pregnancy Comes To Is A Decent Baby. That Is What We All Hope Will Be The End Product Of This Stress. It Is Customary, At The End Of A Pregnancy, To Have For Your Pains A Decent Baby.

This Is The Urgency: Live! And Have Your Blooming In The Noise Of The Whirlwind.