Originality Is... A By-product Of Sincerity.

Conscious Writing Can Be The Death Of Poetry.

The Prey Of Fear, He, Always Curtailed, Extinguished, Thwarted By The Dusk, Work Partly Done, Says To The Alternating Blaze, "again The Sun! Anew Each Day; And New And New And New, That Comes Into And Steadies My Soul."

The Small Tuft Of Fronds Or Katydid Legs Above Each Eye, Still Numbering The Units In Each Group; The Shadbones Regularly Set About The Mouth, To Droop Or Rise

When One Is Frank, One's Very Presence Is A Compliment.

The Power Of The Visible Is The Invisible.