I Am Waylaid By Beauty.

[on Going To Sunday School:] It Looks Like Rain, And I Hope It Will Rain Cats And Dogs And Hammers And Pitchforks And Silver Sugar Spoons And Hay Ricks And Paper-covered Novels And Picture Frames And Rag Carpets And Toothpicks And Skating Rinks And Birds Of Paradise And Roof Gardens And Burdocks And French Grammars Before Sunday School Time.

I Only Know That Summer Sang In Me A Little While, That In Me Sings No More.

Youth, Have No Pity; Leave No Farthing Here For Age To Invest In Compromise And Fear.

That Which Has Quelled Me, Lives With Me, Accomplice In Catastrophe.

There Is No God. But It Does Not Matter. Man Is Enough.