Redheaded Women Buck Like Goats.

He Wanted To Cry Quietly But Not For Himself: For The Words, So Beautiful And Sad, Like Music.

For The Years, He Felt, Had Not Quenched His Soul, Or Hers.

Welcome, O Life! I Go To Encounter For The Millionth Time The Reality Of Experience And To Forge In The Smithy Of My Soul The Uncreated Conscience Of My Race.

I Will Not Say Nothing. I Will Defend My Church And My Religion When It Is Insulted And Spit On.

I Think I Would Know Nora's Fart Anywhere. I Think I Could Pick Hers Out In A Roomful Of Farting Women.