To Be Social Is To Be Forgiving.

The Land Was Ours Before We Were The Land's. She Was Our Land More Than A Hundred Years Before We Were Her People.

The Fact Is The Sweetest Dream That Labor Knows.

Never Discuss The Poem You Contemplate Writing. It's Like Turning On The Outside Spigot. It Takes All The Pressure Off The Upstairs Bathroom.

Love At The Lips Was Touch As Sweet As I Could Bear; And Once That Seemed Too Much; I Lived On Air.

When A Friend Calls To Me From The Road And Slows His Horse To A Meaning Walk, I Don't Stand Still And Look Around On All The Hills I Haven't Hoed, And Shout From Where I Am, What Is It? No, Not As There Is A Time To Talk. I Thrust My Hoe In The Mellow Ground, Blade-end Up And Five Feet Tall, And Plod: I Go Up To The Stone Wall For A Friendly Visit.