Poetry Is A Mock Of A Cry

It Is Necessary ... For A Man To Go Away By Himself ... To Sit On A Rock ... And Ask, 'who Am I, Where Have I Been, And Where Am I Going?

The Greatest Cunning Is To Have None At All.

Poetry Is The Journal Of A Sea Animal Living On Land, Wanting To Fly In The Air.

Pile The Bodies High At Austerlitz And Waterloo. Shovel Them Under And Let Me Work- I Am The Grass; I Cover All. And Pile Them High At Gettysburg. And Pile Them High At Ypres And Verdun. Shovel Them Under And Let Me Work. Two Years, Ten Years,and Passengers Ask The Conductor- What Place Is This? Where Are We Now? I Am The Grass. Let Me Work.

A Politician Should Have Three Hats. One For Throwing Into The Ring, One For Talking Through, And One For Pulling Rabbits Out Of If Elected.