First Fight. Then Fiddle.

No Man Can Give Me Any Word But Wait.

I Shall Create! If Not A Note, A Hole./if Not An Overture, A Desecration.

As You Get Older, You Find That Often The Wheat, Disentangling Itself From The Chaff, Comes Out To Meet You.

Each Body Has Its Art.

What Shall I Give My Children? Who Are Poor, / Who Are Adjudged The Leastwise Of The Land...