Poetry is the arithmetic of the easiest way and the primrose path, matched up with foam-flanked horses, bloody knuckles, and bones, on the hard ways to the stars.

The single clenched fist lifted and ready, Or the open asking hand held out and waiting. Choose: For we meet by one or the other.

I am! I have come through! I belong!

The scholars and poets of an earlier time can be read only with a dictionary to help.

The squeaky wheel gets the grease but the quacking duck gets shot.

Valor is a gift. Those having it never know for sure whether they have it until the test comes.

Somebody's little girl- how easy it is to make a sob story over who she once was and who she now is.