She Was Like Marat Only With Nobody

I Think Like A Genius, I Write Like A Distinguished Author, And I Speak Like A Child.

Those Eggheadsareterrible Philistines. A Realgood Head Is Not Oval But Round.

And I Want To Rise Up, Throw My Arms Open For A Vast Embrace, Address An Ample, Luminous Discourse To The Invisible Crowds. I Would Start Like This: "o Rainbow-colored Gods. . .

The Lost Glove Is Happy.

How Small The Cosmos (a Kangaroo's Pouch Would Hold It), How Paltry And Puny In Comparison To Human Consciousness, To A Single Individual Recollection, And Its Expression In Words!