The sweet small clumsy feet of april came into the ragged meadow of my soul.
At least the Pilgrim Fathers used to shoot Indians: the Pilgrim Children merely punch time clocks.
Humanity I love you because when you're hard up you pawn your intelligence to buy a drink.
Treat a man like dirt-he produces flowers.
Art is a mystery. A mystery is something immeasurable.
The artist is not a man who describes, but a man who feels.