I Never Met A Soul In This

Occasionally The Very Youngness Of The Young Moved Him To Charity--they Had No Sense Of The Swiftness Of Life, Nor Of Its Limits. The Years Would Pass Like Weeks, And Loves Would Pass Too, Or Else Grow Sour.

Nobody Run Off With Her,” Roscoe Said. "she Just Run Off With Herself, I Guess.

Certainly On The Vast Windy Plain, There Was Plenty Of Nothing To Be Looked At.

The Earth Is Mostly Just A Boneyard. But Pretty In The Sunlight.

Maybe You Can Make Art Out Of Unredeemed Pain, But Only If You're A Genius -- Dostoyevsky Perhaps.