Hate Is A Fear, And Fear Is

If I Were A Girl, I'd Despair. The Supply Of Good Women Far Exceeds That Of The Men Who Deserve Them.

Abstract Reason, Formerly The Servant Of Practical Human Reasons, Has Everywhere Become Its Master, And Denies Poetry Any Excuse For Existence. Though Philosophers Like To Define Poetry As Irrational Fancy, For Us It Is Practical, Humorous, Reasonable Way Of Being Ourselves. Of Never Acquiescing In A Fraud; Of Never Accepting The Secondary-rate In Poetry, Painting, Music, Love, Friends. Of Safeguarding Our Poetic Institutions Against The Encroachments Of Mechanized, Insensate, Inhumane, Abstract Rationality.

Well, We've Been Lucky Devils Both And There Is No Need For A Pledge Or Oath To Bind Our Lovely Friendship Fast, By Firmer Stuff Close Bound Enough.

For I Now Realize That What Overcame Me That Evening Was A Sudden Awareness Of The Power Of Intuition, The Supra-logic That Cuts Out All Routine Processes Of Thought And Leaps Straight From Problem To Answer.

Any Honest Housewife Would Sort Them Out,/ Having A Nose For Fish, An Eye For Apples.