In The Name Of The Bee And

Truth Is So Rare That It Is Delightful To Tell It.

For Each Ecstatic Instant We Must An Anguish Pay In Keen And Quivering Ratio To The Ecstasy.

Beauty Is Not The Cause Of Something, It Is What It Is.

It Was A Quiet Way - He Asked If I Was His - I Made No Answer Of The Tongue But Answer Of The Eyes - And Then He Bore Me On Before This Mortal Noise With Swiftness, As Of Chariots And Distance, As Of Wheels. This World Did Drop Away As Acres From The Feet Of One That Leaneth From Balloon Upon An Ether Street. The Gulf Behind Was Not, The Continents Were New - Eternity Was Due. No Seasons Were To Us - It Was Not Night Nor Morn - But Sunrise Stopped Upon The Place And Fastened In Dawn.

A Dominie In Gray-- Put Gently Up The Evening Bars-- And Led The Flock Away