For Each Ecstatic Instant We

God, Keep Me From What They Call 'households,'

Remorse Is Cureless--the Disease Not Even God--can Heal-- For 'tis His Institution--and The Adequate Of Hell

Assent - And You Are Sane - Demur - And You're Straightaway Dangerous - And Handled With A Chain.

I Imagine Therefore I Belong And Am Free.

I Cannot Help Esteem The 'bird Within The Hand' Superior To The One The 'bush' May Yield Me Or May Not Too Late To Choose Again