There is no song to your singing.

Money buys everything except love, personality, freedom, immortality, silence, peace.

I take you and pile high the memories. Death will break her claws on some I keep.

If [America] forgets where she came from, if the people lose sight of what brought them along, if she listens to the deniers and mockers, then will begin the rot and dissolution.

When I was writing pretty poor poetry, this girl with midnight black hair told me to go on.

I couldn't see myself filling some definite niche in what is called a career. This was all misty.

Arithmetic is where the answer is right and everything is nice and you can look out of the window and see the blue sky - or the answer is wrong and you have to start over and try again and see how it comes out this time.