May Is Much Sunshine Through Small Leaves.

Not A Softness Anywhere About Me, Only Whalebone And Brocade.

Happiness: We Rarely Feel It. I Would Buy It, Beg It, Steal It, Pay In Coins Of Dripping Blood For This One Transcendent Good.

Moon! Moon! I Am Prone Before You. Pity Me,and Drench Me In Loneliness.

This Is War: Boys Flung Into A Breach Like Shoveled Earth; And Old Men, Broken, Driving Rapidly Before Crowds Of People In A Glitter Of Silly Decorations. Behind The Boys And The Old Men, Life Weeps, And Shreds Her Garments To The Blowing Winds.

Love Is A Game-yes? I Think It Is A Drowning.