I Had To Keep On Acting Deaf

Along The Western Slopes Of The Oregon Coastal Range . . . Come Look: The Hysterical Crashing Of Tributaries As They Merge Into The Wakonda Auga River . . .

I'd Rather Be A Lightning Rod Than A Seismograph.

Take What You Can Use And Let The Rest Go By.

High High In The Hills , High In A Pine Tree Bed. She's Tracing The Wind With That Old Hand, Counting The Clouds With That Old Chant, Three Geese In A Flock One Flew East One Flew West One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest

Alongside The Statement About One Man's Poison Being Another Man's High, One Might As Well Add That One Man's Saint Can Be Another Man's Sore And One Man's Hero Can Turn Out To Be That Man's Biggest Hangup.