My Noisy Denunciation Trails Off In Doubt.

Young Poets Bewail The Passing Of Love; Old Poets, The Passing Of Time. There Is Surprisingly Little Difference.

Always Assume That A Lucky Hit Will Not Be Repeated.

People Who Expect Deference Resent Mere Civility.

Most Of Us Live In A World That Has Ceased To Exist.

I Know That I Am Very Much Like Everybody Else, But Not Really.