Love Must Have Wings To Fly Away

Friends: People Who Borrow My Books And Set Wet Glasses On Them.

Where's The Need Of Singing Now?

No Matter What We Are, And What We Sing, Time Finds A Withered Leaf In Every Laurel

Your Dollar Is Your Only Word, / The Wrath Of It Your Only Fear. / You Build It Altars Tall Enough / To Make You See, But Your Are Blind; / You Cannot Leave It Long Enough / To Look Before You Or Behind.

I Shall Have More To Say When I Am Dead.