The Woods Are Lovely, Dark, And Deep

In Heaven We Are All Ghostwriters, If We Write At All.

Possessing What We Still Were Unpossessed By, Possessed By What We Now No More Possessed.

If Society Fits You Comfortably Enough, You Call It Freedom.

I Think I Know Enough Of Hate To Say That For Destruction Ice Is Also Great And Would Suffice.

Something Sinister In The Tone Told Me My Secret Must Be Known: Word I Was In The House Alone Somehow Must Have Gotten Abroad, Word I Was In My Life Alone, Word I Had No One Left But God.