The People Know What The Land Knows.

Poetry Is The Opening And Closing Of A Door, Leaving Those Who Look Through To Guess About What Is Seen During The Moment.

To Work Hard, To Live Hard, To Die Hard, And Then Go To Hell After All Would Be Too Damned Hard.

Slang Is A Language That Rolls Up Its Sleeves, Spits On Its Hands And Goes To Work.

Poetry Is An Echo, Asking A Shadow To Dance.

Time Is The Coin Of Life. Only You Can Determine How It Will Be Spent.