A tale from which pieces have been raked out is like a fire that has been poked. One does not know the operation has been performed, but everyone feels the effect.
A man's mind is wont to tell him more than seven watchmen sitting in a tower.
But till we are built like angels, with hammer and chisel and pen, we will work for ourself and a woman, forever and ever, Amen.
And some can pot begonias and some can bud a rose, And some are hardly fit to trust with anything that grows.
We have learned to whittle the Eden Tree to the shape of a surplice peg, We have learned to bottle our parents twain in the yelk of an addled egg. We know that the tail must wag the dog, for the horse is drawn by the cart, But the devil whoops, as he whooped of old; It's clever, but is it art?
And the talk slid north, and the talk slid south With the sliding puffs from the hookah-mouth; Four things greater than all things are Women and Horses and Power and War.
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