What We Live By We Die By.

Nearly Everybody Is Looking For Something Brave To Do. I Don't Know Why People Shouldn't Write Poetry. That's Brave.

And Were An Epitaph To Be My Story I'd Have A Short One Ready For My Own. I Would Have Written Of Me On My Stone: I Had A Lover's Quarrel With The World.

That Day She Put Our Heads Together, Fate Had Her Imagination About Her, Your Head So Much Concerned With Outer, Mine With Inner, Weather.

Any Work Of Art Must First Of All Tell A Story.

We Ran As If To Meet The Moon.