Nature's first green is gold.

Unless I'm wrong I but obey The urge of a song: I'm-bound-away! And I may return If dissatisfied With what I learn From having died.

I cut my own hair. I got sick of barbers because they talk too much. And too much of their talk was about my hair coming out.

Possessing what we still were unpossessed by, Possessed by what we now no more possessed.

Fortunately, we don't need to know how bad an age is. There is something we can always be doing without reference to how good or bad the age is.

A breeze discovered my open book And began to flutter the leaves to look

We ran as if to meet the moon.