If Society Fits You Comfortably Enough, You

Something There Is That Doesn't Love A Wall, And Wants It Down.

What Are We? Young Or New? We Must Be Something.

The Rain To The Wind Said, You Push And I'll Pelt.' They So Smote The Garden Bed That The Flowers Actually Knelt, And Lay Lodged--though Not Dead. I Know How The Flowers Felt.

There Is The Fear That We Shan't Prove Worthy In The Eyes Of Someone Who Knows Us At Least As Well As We Know Ourselves. That Is The Fear Of God. And There Is The Fear Of Man -fear That Men Won't Understand Us And We Shall Be Cut Of From Them.

A Mother Takes Twenty Years To Make A Man Of Her Boy, And Another Woman Makes A Fool Of Him In Twenty Minutes.