The Mind Scolds The Heart, Which Makes

Old Age: I Fall Asleep During The Funerals Of My Friends.

Your Love For Me Is Founded In A Sentiment. My Love For You Is Founded In The Body. A Precarious Interchange.

Great Talkers Are Trying To Fill The Gap Between Themselves And Others, But Only Widen It.

The Harp Is An Insipid Instrument--no Good For Dancing, Feasting, Or Marching, Only For Sitting Primly In A Parlor Or On A Cloud.

As I Criss-cross The City Hurrying, I Feel Always The Unchanging Cold Beneath The Pavement.