Nobody Loses All The Time.

All Which Isn't Singing Is Mere Talking... And All Talking's To Oneself Alone But The Very Song Of (as Mountains Feel And Lovers) Singing Is Silence.

I Like My Body When It Is With Your Body. It Is So Quite New A Thing. Muscles Better And Nerves More.

The Three Saddest Things Are The Ill Wanting To Be Well, The Poor Wanting To Be Rich, And The Constant Traveler Saying 'anywhere But Here'.

You Have Played, (i Think) And Broke The Toys You Were Fondest Of, And Are A Little Tired Now; Tired Of Things That Break, And— Just Tired. So Am I.

Exists No Miracle Mightier Than This: To Feel.