suppose Life is an old man carrying flowers on his head.

since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid

At least the Pilgrim Fathers used to shoot Indians: the Pilgrim Children merely punch time clocks.

things which in my mind blossom will stumble beneath a clumsiest disguise appear capable of fragility and indecision

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.

Take the so-called standard of living. What do most people mean by "living"? They don’t mean living. They mean the latest and closest plural approximation to singular prenatal passivity which science, in its finite but unbounded wisdom, has succeeded in selling their wives.

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond