The Real Trouble With War (modern War)

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.

Haie! Haie! These Were The Swift To Harry; These The Keen-scented; These Were The Souls Of Blood. Slow On The Leash, Pallid The Leash-men!

The Ant's A Centaur In His Dragon World. Pull Down Thy Vanity, It Is Not Man Made Courage, Or Made Order, Or Made Grace, Pull Down Thy Vanity, I Say Pull Down. Learn Of The Green World What Can Be Thy Place In Scaled Invention Or True Artistry, Pull Down Thy Vanity, Paquin Pull Down! The Green Casque Has Outdone Your Elegance.

No Man Understands A Deep Book Until He Has Seen And Lived At Least Part Of Its Contents.

Poetry Is About As Much A 'criticism Of Life' As Red-hot Iron Is A Criticism Of Fire.