Any Writer Overwhelmingly Honest About Pleasing Himself

Poetry ... ... A Place For The Genuine, Hands That Can Grasp, Eyes That Can Dilate, Hair That Can Rise

The Heart That Gives, Gathers.

The Mind Is An Enchanting Thing Is An Enchanted Thing, Like The Glaze On A Katydid-wing Subdivided By Sun Till The Nettings Are Legion.

Beauty Is Everlasting And Dust Is For A Time.

That Which Is Impossible To Force, It Is Impossible To Hinder.