Where's The Need Of Singing Now?

Are We No Greater Than The Noise We Make Along One Blind Atomic Pilgrimage Whereon By Crass Chance Billeted We Go Because Our Brains And Bones And Cartilage Will Have It So?

Pity Is Like A Knife, Sometimes, And It May Pierce One Who Employs It More Shrewdly Than The Victim It Would Save.

For When A Woman Is Left Too Much Alone, Sooner Or Later She Begins To Think; And No Man Knows What Then She May Discover.

The Stillness Of October Gold Went Out Like Beauty From A Face.

I Have Been Reading The Old Testament, A Most Bloodthirsty And Perilous Book For The Young. Jehovah Is Beyond Doubt The Worst Character In Fiction.