Rough Johnson, The Great Moralist.

A Quiet Conscience Makes One So Serene.

We Are All The Fools Of Time And Terror: Days Steal On Us And Steal From Us; Yet We Live, Loathing Our Life, And Dreading Still To Die.

That Music In Itself, Whose Sounds Are Song, The Poetry Of Speech.

There's Not A Sea The Passenger E'er Pukes In, Turns Up More Dangerous Breakers Than The Euxine.

I Have Not Loved The World, Nor The World Me.