One Of The Springs Of Poetry Is

Solitude Is The Salt Of Personhood. It Brings Out The Authentic Flavor Of Every Experience.

I Suppose Real Old Age Begins When One Looks Backward Rather Than Forward

Deep Down There Was Understanding, Not Of The Facts Of Our Lives So Much As Of Our Essential Natures.

The Fact Is That I Have Lived With The Belief That Power, Any Kind Of Power, Was The One Thing Forbidden To Poets. ... Power Requires That The Inner Person Never Be Unmasked. No, We Poets Have To Go Naked. And Since This Is So, It Is Better That We Stay Private People; A Naked Public Person Would Be Rather Ridiculous, What?

I Think That Passion If Really Intense Is Always Destructive If Not To The Two Involved, Always To Other People.