There is no expeditious road To pack and label men for God, And save them by the barrel-load. Some may perchance, with strange surprise, Have blundered into Paradise.

The desolation and terror of, for the first time, realizing that the mother can lose you, or you her, and your own abysmal loneliness and helplessness without her.

Look for me in the nurseries of Heaven.

Agnosticism is the everlasting perhaps.

There is no expeditious road To pack and label men for God, And save them by the barrel-load. Some may perchance, with strange surprise, Have blundered into Paradise.

The devil doesn't know how to sing, only how to howl.

Deep in my heart subsides the infrequent word, And there dies slowly throbbing like a wounded bird.