Do Diddle Di Do, Poor Jim Jay

Hi! Handsome Hunting Man Fire Your Little Gun. Bang! Now The Animal Is Dead And Dumb And Done. Nevermore To Peep Again, Creep Again, Leap Again, Eat Or Sleep Or Drink Again. Oh, What Fun!

Oh, No Man Knows Through What Wild Centuries Roves Back The Rose.

What Is The World, O Soldiers? It Is I, I, This Incessant Snow, This Northern Sky.

All Day Long The Door Of The Sub-conscious Remains Just Ajar; We Slip Through To The Other Side, And Return Again, As Easily And Secretly As A Cat.

Without Imagination Of The One Kind Or Of The Other, Mortal Existence Is Indeed A Dreary And Prosaic Business... Illumined By The Imagination, Our Life, Whatever Its Defeats - Is A Never-ending Unforeseen Strangeness And Adventure And Mystery.