Poor Congo, Barefoot Bride Of

A Flower Is A Plant's Way Of Making Love.

You Don't Think You'll Live Past It And You Don't Really. The Person You Were Is Gone. But The Half Of You That's Still Alive Wakes Up One Day And Takes Over Again.

You Think You're The Foreigner Here, And I'm The American, And I Just Look The Other Way While The President Or Somebody Sends Down This And That . . . To Torture People With. But Nobody Asked My Permission, Okay? Sometimes I Feel Like I'm A Foreigner, Too.

My Way Of Finding A Place In This World Is To Write One.

The March Of Human Progress Seemed Mainly A Matter Of Getting Over That Initial Shock Of Being Here.