The True Enemy Of Man Is Generalization.

Grow Your Tree Of Falsehood From A Small Grain Of Truth.

I Am Composed Of Contradictions, Which Is Why Poetry Is A Better Form For Me Than Philosophy

Do Not Feel Safe. The Poet Remembers. You Can Kill One, But Another Is Born. The Words Are Written Down, The Deed, The Date.

Under Various Names, I Have Praised Only You, Rivers! You Are Milk And Honey And Love And Death And Dance. From A Spring In Hidden Grottoes, Seeping From Mossy Rocks, Where A Goddess Pours Live Water From A Pitcher, At Clear Streams In The Meadow, Where Rills Murmur Underground, Your Race And My Race Begin, And Amazement, And Quick Passage.

Consolation Calm Down. Both Your Sins And Your Good Deeds Will Be Lost In Oblivion.