The Primary Pigment Of Poetry Is The

As For Literature It Gives No Man A Sinecure. And No One Knows, At Sight, A Masterpiece. And Give Up Verse, My Boy, There's Nothing In It.

Compose In The Sequence Of The Musical Phrase, Not In Sequence Of A Metronome.

In Case I Conk Out, This Is Provisionally What I Have To Do: I Must Clarify Obscurities; I Must Make Clearer Definite Ideas Or Dissociations. I Must Find A Verbal Formula To Combat The Rise Of Brutality--the Principle Of Order Versus The Split Atom.

The Individual Cannot Think And Communicate His Thought, The Governor And Legislator Cannot Act Effectively Or Frame His Laws Without Words, And The Solidity And Validity Of These Words Is In The Care Of The Damned And Despised Litterati...when Their Very Medium, The Very Essence Of Their Work, The Application Of Word To Thing Goes Rotten, I.e. Becomes Slushy And Inexact, Or Excessive Or Bloated, The Whole Machinery Of Social And Of Individual Thought And Order Goes To Pot.

No Picture Is Made To Endure Nor To Live With But It Is Made To Sell And Sell Quickly With Usura, Sin Against Nature, Is Thy Bread Ever More Of Stale Rags Is Thy Bread Dry As Paper.