Space Ails Us Moderns: We Are Sick

And Nothing To Look Backward To With Pride, And Nothing To Look Forward To With Hope.

You Can Be A Little Ungrammatical If You Come From The Right Part Of The Country.

One Of The Lies Would Make It Out That Nothing Ever Presents Itself Before Us Twice. Where Would We Be At Last If That Were So? Our Very Life Depends On Everything's Recurring Till We Answer From Within.

Poets Are Like Baseball Pitchers. Both Have Their Moments. The Intervals Are The Tough Things.

Ants Are A Curious Race