Incredibly, Inordinately, Devastatingly, Immortally, Calamitously, Hearteningly, Adorably

Blow Out, You Bugles, Over The Rich Dead! There's None Of These So Lonely And Poor Of Old, But, Dying, Has Made Us Rarer Gifts Than Gold.

I Know What Things Are Good: Friendship And Work And Conversation. These I Shall Have.

Cities, Like Cats, Will Reveal Themselves At Night.

All The Little Emptiness Of Love!

Love Is A Breach In The Walls, A Broken Gate, Love Sells The Proud Heart's Citadel To Fate.