For A Time They Confronted Each Other

Only Against Death Does Man Cry Out In Vain.

Good God, If Our Civilization Were To Sober Up For A Couple Of Days It'd Die Of Remorse On The Third.

There Was No Mistaking, Even In The Uncertain Light, The Hand, Half Crabbed, Half Generous, And Wholly Drunken, Of The Consul Himself, The Greek E's, The Flying Buttresses Of D's, The T's Like Lonely Wayside Crosses Save Where They Crucified An Entire Word.

What Is Man But A Little Soul Holding Up A Corpse?

Fear Ringed By Doubt Is My Eternal Moon.