The Only Way Round Is Through.

Hell Is A Half-filled Auditorium.

Forgive Me My Nonsense, As I Also Forgive The Nonsense Of Those That Think They Talk Sense.

A Bird Half Wakened In The Lunar Noon Sang Halfway Through Its Little Inborn Tune.

There Are Three Things, After All, That A Poem Must Reach: The Eye, The Ear, And What We May Call The Heart Or The Mind. It Is The Most Important Of All To Reach The Heart Of The Reader.

And Nothing To Look Backward To With Pride, And Nothing To Look Forward To With Hope.