All Of Consciousness Is Shifted From The

By Some Chance, Here They Are, All On This Earth; And Who Shall Ever Tell The Sorrow Of Being On This Earth, Lying, On Quilts, On The Grass In A Summer Evening, Among The Sounds Of The Night. May God Bless My People, My Uncle, My Aunt, My Mother, My Good Father, Oh, Remember Them Kindly In Their Time Of Trouble; And In The Hour Of Their Taking Away.

I Prefer A Little Free Speech To No Free Speech At All; But How Many Have Free Speech Or The Chance Or The Mind For It; And Is Not Free Speech Here As Elsewhere Clamped Down On In Ratio Of Its Freedom And Danger?

When He Ran From A Cop, His Transitions From Accelerating Walk To Easy Jog Trot To Brisk Canter To Headlong Gallop To Flogged-piston Sprint . . . Were As Distinct And As Soberly In Order As An Automatic Gearshift.

It Is The Middle And Pure Height And Whole Of Summer And A Summer Night, The Held Breath, Of A Planet's Year; High Shored Sleeps The Crested Tide: What Day Of The Month I Do Not Know, Which Day Of The Week I Am Not Sure, Far Less What Hour Of The Night.

I Know The Most Important Faculty To Develop Is One For Hard, Continuous And Varied Work And Living; But The Difference Between Knowing This And Doing Anything Consistent About It Is Often Abysmal.