Pain Makes Hens And Poets

For A Significant Man Woman, The One Thought He Values Greatly, To The Laughter And Scorn Of Insignificant Men, Is A Key To Hidden Treasure Chambers; For Those Others, It Is Nothing But A Piece Of Old Iron.

A Little Poison Now And Then: That Makes For Pleasant Dreams. And A Lot Of Poison At The End, For A Pleasant Death.

Respectability Offends My Taste.

The Word 'christianity' Is Already A Misunderstanding - In Reality There Has Been Only One Christian, And He Died On The Cross.

The Poet Presents His Thoughts Festively, On The Carriage Of Rhythm: Usually Because They Could Not Walk.