As Was The Custom In Such Cases,

What We Now Call "finance" Is, I Hold, An Intellectual Perversion Of What Began As Warm Human Love.

Love Is Universal Migraine, A Bright Stain On The Vision Blotting Out Reason. Symptoms Of True Love Are Leanness, Jealousy, Laggard Dawns; Are Omens And Nightmares - Listening For A Knock, Waiting For A Sign: For A Touch Of Her Fingers In A Darkened Room, For A Searching Look. Take Courage, Lover! Could You Endure Such Pain At Any Hand But Hers?

I Was Thinking, "so, I’m Emperor, Am I? What Nonsense! But At Least I'll Be Able To Make People Read My Books Now.

Never Use The Word 'audience.' The Very Idea Of A Public, Unless The Poet Is Writing For Money, Seems Wrong To Me. Poets Don't Have An 'audience'. They're Talking To A Single Person All The Time.

One Gets To The Heart Of The Matter By A Series Of Experiences In The Same Pattern, But In Different Colors.