My Eyes Were Often Full Of Tears

Frequent And Violent Temptations Were A Proof That The Citadel Of The Soul Had Not Fallen And That The Devil Raged To Make It Fall.

Poetry, Even When Apparently Most Fantastic, Is Always A Revolt Against Artifice, A Revolt, In A Sense, Against Actuality. It Speaks Of What Seems Fantastic And Unreal To Those Who Have Lost The Simple Intuitions Which Are The Test Of Reality; And, As It Is Often Found At War With Its Age, So It Makes No Account Of History, Which Is Fabled By The Daughters Of Memory.

A Woman Loses A Charm With Every Pin She Takes Out.

That Ideal Reader Suffering From An Ideal Insomnia.

Saying That A Great Genius Is Mad, While At The Same Time Recognizing His Artistic Worth, Is Like Saying That He Had Rheumatism Or Suffered From Diabetes. Madness, In Fact, Is A Medical Term That Can Claim No More Notice From The Objective Critic Than He Grants The Charge Of Heresy Raised By The Theologian, Or The Charge Of Immorality Raised By The Police.