I Look Around Me And Nowhere Do

The Plot! The Plot! What Kind Of Plot Could A Poet Possibly Provide That Is Not Surpassed By The Thinking, Feeling Reader? Form Alone Is Divine.

Trying To Conceal A Crime Is Like Burying A Seed In The Ground.

At Certain Times, Men Regard Poetry Merely As A Bright Flame, But To Women It Was, And Always Will Be, A Warm Fire.

There Is One Privilege We'll Never Lose; Currently It's Called Nationality. It Means That Everyone Was Born Somewhere, Which Is Infact Self-evident.

A Wise Man Can And Should Stand Above His Times, Not So The Poet, But He Should Be Their Apex.