We All Scribble Poetry.

It Is Equally Bad When One Speeds On The Guest Unwilling To Go, And When He Holds Back One Who Is Hastening. Rather One Should Befriend The Guest Who Is There, But Speed Him When He Wishes.

The Tongue Of Man Is A Twisty Thing.

The Sun Rose On The Flawless Brimming Sea Into A Sky All Brazen-all One Brightening For Gods Immortal And For Mortal Men On Plowlands Kind With Grain.

Of All Creatures That Breathe And Move Upon The Earth, Nothing Is Bred That Is Weaker Than Man.

So Peaceful Shalt Thou End Thy Blissful Days, And Steal Thyself From Life By Slow Decays.