A Play Is Made By Sensing How

But We Are Mostly What We Are, And The Turtle Stretching Toward Delicious Buds On High Does Not Lighten His Carapace By His Resolve.

Now Hell And Heaven Grapple On Our Backs And All Our Old Pretense Is Ripped Away. Aye, And God's Icy Wind Will Blow.

I Speak My Own Sins; I Cannot Judge Another. I Have No Tongue For It.

There Might Be A Dragon With Five Legs In My House, But No One Has Ever Seen It.

Everybody Likes A Kidder, But Nobody Lends Him Money.