The only certain freedom's in departure.
No memory of having starred atones for later disregard, or keeps the end from being hard.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree~ And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.
Space ails us moderns: we are sick with space.
Far more violence has been done in obeying the law than in breaking the law.
An idea is a feat of association.