Life Is Too Fleet For Onomatopoeia.

To Live At All Is Miracle Enough.

Years On End, And Swords On End - Where Will It End, If Our Ears Unbend - What Shall I Spend On A Wrinkled Friend In A Pair Of Tights Like A Bunch Of Lights?

Noon, Ripe As Thunder And Silent As Thought, Had Fled Unfingered.

He Saw In Happiness The Seeds Of Independence, And In Independence The Seeds Of Revolt.

As I See It, Life Is An Effort To Grip Before They Slip Through One's Fingers And Slide Into Oblivion, The Startling, The Ghastly Or The Blindingly Exquisite Fish Of The Imagination Before They Whip Away On The Endless Current And Are Lost For Ever In Oblivion's Black Ocean.