Prose Books Are The Show Dogs I

The Gift Of Independence Once Granted Cannot Be Lightly Taken Away Again.

Poetry Is No More A Narcotic Than A Stimulant; It Is A Universal Bittersweet Mixture For All Possible Household Emergencies And Its Action Varies Accordingly As It Is Taken In A Wineglass Or A Tablespoon, Inhaled, Gargled Or Rubbed On The Chest By Hard Fingers Covered With Rings.

Faults In English Prose Derive Not So Much From Lack Of Knowledge, Intelligence Or Art As From Lack Of Thought, Patience Or Goodwill.

A Perfect Poem Is Impossible. Once It Had Been Written, The World Would End. Immature Poets Imitate; Mature Poets Steal.

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?