A Mind Too Active Is

The Stones Were Sharp, The Wind Came At My Back; Walking Along The Highway, Mincing Like A Cat.

In Our Age, If A Boy Or Girl Is Untalented, The Odds Are In Favor Of Their Thinking They Want To Write.

Art Is The Means We Have Of Undoing The Damage Of Haste. It's What Everything Else Isn't.

I Long For The Imperishable Quiet At The Heart Of Form.

(i Measure Time By How A Body Sways.)