Publishing a volume of verse is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo.

When a man tells you that he got rich through hard work, ask him: 'Whose?'

For all of the creeds are false, and all of the creeds are true; And low at the shrines where my brothers bow, there will I bow too; For no form of a god, and no fashion Man has made in his desperate passion, But is worthy some worship of mine; Not too hot with a gross belief, Nor yet too cold with pride, I will bow me down where my brothers bow, Humble, but open eyed.

What man calls civilization always results in deserts.

what man calls civilizationalways results in desertsman is never on the squarehe uses up the fat and greenery of the eartheach generation wastes a little moreof the future with greed and lust for riches

Publishing a volume of verse is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo.

Pity the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.