Money And Art Are Far Apart.

For Poems Are Like Rainbows; They Escape You Quickly.

The Past Has Been A Mint Of Blood And Sorrow. That Must Not Be True Of Tomorrow.

Good Morning, Revolution: You're The Very Best Friend I Ever Had. We Gonna Pal Around Together From Now On

Keep Your Hand On The Plow. Hold On.

What Happens To A Dream Deferred? Does It Dry Up Like A Raisin In The Sun? ... Or Does It Explode?