It Seems That Tears And

I Have Been In Sorrow's Kitchen And Licked Out All The Pots. Then I Have Stood On The Peaky Mountain Wrapped In Rainbows, With A Harp And Sword In My Hands.

The Haitian People Are Gentle And Lovable Except For Their Enormous And Unconscious Cruelty.

I Have The Nerve To Walk My Own Way, However Hard, In My Search For Reality, Rather Than Climb Upon The Rattling Wagon Of Wishful Illusions.

It Is Easy To Be Hopeful In The Day When You Can See The Things You Wish On.

Folklore Is The Boiled-down Juice, Or Pot-likker, Of Human Living.