If You Will Tell Me Why The

Below The Incandescent Stars / Below The Incandescent Fruit, / The Strange Experience Of Beauty; / Its Existence Is Too Much; / It Tears One To Pieces / And Each Fresh Wave Of Consciousness / Is Poison.

One Must Be As Clear As One's Natural Reticence Allows One To Be.

You Are Not Male Nor Female, But A Plan Deep-set Within The Heart Of Man.

There Never Was A War That Was Not Inward.

Revision Is Its Own Reward.