My Good Hoe As It Bites The

To Give Money To A Sufferer Is Only A Come-off. It Is Only A Postponement Of The Real Payment, A Bribe Paid For Silence, A Creditsystem In Which A Paper Promise To Pay Answers For The Time Instead Of Liquidation. We Owe To Man Higher Succors Than Food And Fire. We Owe To Man.

Yourself A Newborn Bard Of The Holy Ghost, Cast Behind You All Conformity, And Acquaint Men At First Hand With Deity.

When We Quarrel, How We Wish We Had Been Blameless.

Our Poets Are Men Of Talents Who Sing, And Not The Children Of Music.

The World Globes Itself In A Drop Of Dew.