The Best Way Out Is Always Through.

I've Given Offense By Saying I'd As Soon Write Free Verse As Play Tennis With The Net Down.

My Sorrow, When She's Here With Me, Thinks These Dark Days Of Autumn Rain Are Beautiful As Days Can Be; She Loves The Bare, The Withered Tree; She Walks The Sodden Pasture Lane.

Meditate Nothing. Learn To Contemplate. Contemplate Glory. There Will Be A Light. Contemplate Truth Until It Burns Your Eyes Out.

God Turned To Speak To Me (don't Anybody Laugh); God Found I Wasn't There At Least Not Over Half.

That Day She Put Our Heads Together, Fate Had Her Imagination About Her, Your Head So Much Concerned With Outer, Mine With Inner, Weather.