The Only Way Out Is To Go

Nothing Flatters Me More Than To Have It Assumed That I Could Write Prose, Unless It Be To Have It Assumed That I Once Pitched A Baseball With Distinction.

What Are We? Young Or New? We Must Be Something.

The Tree The Tempest With A Crash Of Wood Throws Down In Front Of Us Is Not To Bar Our Passage To Our Journey's End For Good, But Just To Ask Us Who We Think We Are.

For Hard It Is To Keep From Being King When It's In You And In The Situation.

A Definite Purpose, Like Blinders On A Horse, Inevitably Narrows Its Possessor's Point Of View.