The American idiom has much to offer us that the English language has never heard of

You have the chicken, the hen, and the rooster. The chicken goes with the hen So who is having sex with the rooster?

History, history! We fools, what do we know or care.

I think these days when there is so little to believe in——when the old loyalties——God, country, and the hope of Heaven——aren't very real, we are more dependent than we should be on our friends. The only thing left to believe in——someone who seems beautiful.

The pure products of America go crazy--mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey with its isolate lakes and valleys, its deaf-mutes, thieves.

O frost bitten blossoms, That are unfolding your wings From out the envious black branches. Bloom quickly and make much of the sunshine. The twigs conspire against you! Hear hem! They hold you from behind.

The business of love is cruelty which, by our wills, we transform to live together.