Be Sure That Whatever You

The Indignity Of It!- With Everything Blooming Above Me, Lilies, Pale-pink Cyclamen, Roses, Whole Fields Lovely And Inviolate,- Me Down In The Fetor Of Weeds, Crawling On All Fours, Alive, In A Slippery Grave.

So Much Of Adolescence Is An Ill-defined Dying, An Intolerable Waiting, A Longing For Another Place And Time, Another Condition.

Over Every Mountain There Is A Path, Although It May Not Be Seen From The Valley.

What Is Madness But Nobility Of Soul At Odds With Circumstance?

I Teach My Sighs To Lengthen Into Songs.