We Are Like Trees. We Wear All

I Know The Dark Delight Of Being Strange, The Penalty Of Difference In The Crowd, The Loneliness Of Wisdom Among Fools.

Adventure-seasoned And Storm-buffeted, I Shun All Signs Of Anchorage, Because The Zest Of Life Exceeds The Bound Of Laws.

I Have Forgotten Much, But Still Remember The Poinsiana's Red, Blood-red In Warm December.

Human Dignity Is More Precious Than Prestige.

If We Must Die, O Let Us Nobly Die.