In Life The Loser's Score Is Always

Lay Your Sleeping Head, My Love, Human On My Faithless Arm.

When Someone Between Twenty And Forty Says, Apropos Of A Work Of Art, 'i Know What I Like,' He Is Really Saying 'i Have No Taste Of My Own But Accept The Taste Of My Cultural Milieu.

With The Farming Of A Verse Make A Vineyard Of The Curse

Money Is The Necessity That Frees Us From Necessity.

The Nightingales Are Sobbing In The Orchards Of Our Mothers, And Hearts That We Broke Long Ago Have Long Been Breaking Others; Tears Are Round, The Sea Is Deep: Roll Them Overboard And Sleep.