Poetry Is A Diary Kept By A

I Cried Over Beautiful Things, Knowing No Beautiful Thing Lasts.

Poetry Is A Shuffling Of Boxes Of Illusions Buckled With A Strap Of Facts.

For We Know When A Nation Goes Down And Never Comes Back, When A Society Or A Civilization Perishes, One Condition May Always Be Found. They Forgot Where They Came From. They Lost Sight Of What Brought Them Along.

There Is Only One Man In The World And His Name Is All Men. There Is Only One Woman In The World And Her Name Is All Women. There Is Only One Child In The World And The Child's Name Is All Children.

Often I Look Back And See That I Had Been Many Kinds Of A Fool-and That I Had Been Happy In Being This Or That Kind Of Fool.