Progress Is A Comfortable Disease.

Things Which In My Mind Blossom Will Stumble Beneath A Clumsiest Disguise Appear Capable Of Fragility And Indecision

A World Of Made Is Not A World Of Born

Treat A Man Like Dirt-he Produces Flowers.

The Poems To Come Are For You And For Me And Are Not For Mostpeople... You And I Are Human Beings; Mostpeople Are Snobs.

And Now You Are And I Am And We're A Mystery Which Will Never Happen Again.