It’s History. It’s Poetry.

I Know He's Dead! Don't You Think I Know That? I Can Still Like Him, Though, Can't I? Just Because Somebody's Dead, You Don't Just Stop Liking Them, For God's Sake--especially If They Were About A Thousand Times Nicer Than The People You Know That're Alive And All.

Just Go To Bed, Now. Quickly. Quickly And Slowly.

If You Sat Around There Long Enough And Heard All The Phonies Applauding And All, You Got To Hate Everybody In The World, I Swear You Did.

Money Always Ends Up Making You Blue.

I'm One Of The Little Foxes That Spoil The Grapes.