Beauty Is Not Caused. It Is.

To Live Is So Startling It Leaves Little Time For Anything Else.

We Do Not Play On Graves— Because There Isn't Room— Besides—it Isn't Even—it Slants And People Come— And Put A Flower On It— And Hang Their Faces So— We're Fearing That Their Hearts Will Drop— And Crush Our Pretty Play— And So We Move As Far As Enemies—away— Just Looking Round To See How Far It Is—occasionally—

[a] Mother Is One To Whom You Hurry When You Are Troubled.

Celebrity Is The Chastisement Of Merit And The Punishment Of Talent.

Narcotics Cannot Still The Tooth. That Nibbles At The Soul