Swans In The Winter Air A White

Long Ago The Accusations Had Begun, And Suddenly Knew By Whom It Had Been Judged

Death Is The Sound Of Distant Thunder At A Picnic.

All Poets Adore Explosions, Thunderstorms, Tornadoes, Conflagrations, Ruins, Scenes Of Spectacular Carnage. The Poetic Imagination Is Not At All A Desirable Quality In A Statesman.

Precisely Because We Do Not Communicate By Singing, A Song Can Be Out Of Place But Not Out Of Character; It Is Just As Credible That A Stupid Person Should Sing Beautifully As That A Clever Person Should Do So.

The Theater Has Never Been Any Good Since The Actors Became Gentlemen.