We Are Like Trees. We Wear All

If We Must Die, Let It Not Be Like Hogs Hunted And Penned In An Inglorious Spot, If We Must Die, O Let Us Nobly Die.

We Are Like Trees. We Wear All Colors Naturally.

I Know The Dark Delight Of Being Strange, The Penalty Of Difference In The Crowd, The Loneliness Of Wisdom Among Fools.

Human Dignity Is More Precious Than Prestige.

I Have Forgotten Much, But Still Remember The Poinsiana's Red, Blood-red In Warm December.