The Stench Of The Trail Of Ego

A Woman Who Is Not Quite A Fool Will Forgive Your Being But A Man, If You Are Surely That. . .

A Human Act Once Set In Motion Flows On Forever To The Great Account. Our Deathlessness Is In What We Do, Not In What We Are.

Not Till The Fire Is Dying In The Grate, Look We For Any Kinship With The Stars.

Poetry Is Talking On Tiptoe.

Faith Works Miracles. At Least It Allows Time For Them.