Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.
Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touched from; The scent of these arm-pits is aroma finer than prayer, This head is more than churches or bibles or creeds.
We convince by our presence.
There is that indescribable freshness and unconsciousness about an illiterate person that humbles and mocks the power of the noblest expressive genius.
The memory of a particular image is but regret for a particular moment, and houses, roads, avenues are as fugitive, alas, as the years.
I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.