Wipe Your Glosses With What

He Wanted To Cry Quietly But Not For Himself: For The Words, So Beautiful And Sad, Like Music.

Hold To The Now, The Here, Through Which All Future Plunges To The Past.

Signatures Of All Things I Am Here To Read.

Shakespeare Is The Happy Hunting Ground Of All Minds That Have Lost Their Balance.

You Cannot Eat Your Cake And Have It.