The Courage Of The Poet Is To

Man Is Unconquerable Because He Can Make Even His Helplessness So Entertaining. His Motto Seems To Be "even Though He Slay Me, Yet Will I Make Fun Of Him!

Beauty Is Ever To The Lonely Mind A Shadow Fleeting; She Is Never Plain. She Is A Visitor Who Leaves Behind The Gift Of Grief, The Souvenir Of Pain.

God Made Man Merely To Hear Some Praise Of What He'd Done On Those Five Days.

Truth And Beauty (perhaps Keats Was Wrong In Identifying Them: Perhaps They Have The Relation Of Wit And Humour, Or Rain And Rainbow) Are Of Interest Only To Hungry People. There Are Several Kinds Of Hunger. If Socrates, Spinoza, And Santayana Had Had Free Access To A Midnight Icebox We Would Never Have Heard Of Them. Shall I Be Ashamed Of My Little Mewing Truths?... I Ask To Be Forgiven: They Are Such Tiny Ones.

Truth Is What Every Man Sees Lurking At The Bottom Of His Own Soul, Like The Oyster Shell Housewives Put In The Kitchen Kettle To Collect The Lime From The Water. By And By Each Man's Iridescent Oyster Shell Of Truth Becomes Coated With The Lime Of Prejudice And Hearsay.