. . . he recommended to all those who might be impressed with a sense of their importance to bury a copy or copies of each work properly...

Something sensational to read on the plane.

We never spoke, although we should Have done so, love, were now but then.

Let’s not impose on usury vain fears!

After the rain, people went hunting snails Along the country roads, and we went, too.

How about you?

Tirades and conniptions are the usual fates.

What sense is there, in tempting fates?

Now a model for World’s future In the climate that we nurture.

Not so much taught intelligence as luck that spots the jewel in the ambient muck.

There is, I fear, no simple answer.

There’s time enough for nothing if love dies.

What’s there to say? Things could be worse!

I’m tingerig—not bold enough for oyster-gulping times!

Green ideas sleep furiously!