He burned his house down for the fire insurance and spent the proceeds on a telescope.
The old dog barks backward without getting up I can remember when he was a pup.
Both T.S. Eliot and I like to play, but I like to play euchre, while he likes to play Eucharist.
And nothing to look backward to with pride, and nothing to look forward to with hope.
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.
I never knew what was meant by choice of words. It was one word or none.