Poetry Is The Cipher Key To The

The People Know What The Land Knows.

Slang Is A Language That Rolls Up Its Sleeves, Spits On Its Hands And Goes To Work.

To Those Who Had Ordered Them To Death, One Of Them Said: “we Die Because The People Are Asleep And You Will Die Because The People Will Awaken.”

I Couldn't See Myself Filling Some Definite Niche In What Is Called A Career. This Was All Misty.

It Is Necessary Now And Then For A Man To Go Away By Himself And Experience Loneliness; To Sit On A Rock In The Forest And To Ask Of Himself, 'who Am I, And Where Have I Been, And Where Am I Going?'...if One Is Not Careful, One Allows Diversions To Take Up One's Time-the Stuff Of Life