The Naming Of Cats Is A Difficult

Genuine Blasphemy, Genuine In Spirit And Not Purely Verbal, Is The Product Of Partial Belief, And Is As Impossible To The Complete Atheist As To The Perfect Christian.

Would It Have Been Worth While, To Have Bitten Off The Matter With A Smile, To Have Squeezed The Universe Into A Ball To Roll It Towards Some Overwhelming Question

And Now You Live Dispersed On Ribbon Roads, And No Man Knows Or Cares Who Is His Neighbor Unless His Neighbor Makes Too Much Disturbance, But All Dash To And Fro In Motor Cars, Familiar With The Roads And Settled Nowhere.

In The Faint Moonlight, The Grass Is Singing

When A Great Poet Has Lived, Certain Things Have Been Done Once For All, And Cannot Be Achieved Again.