The Technique Of Infamy Is To Start

I Did Not Enter Into Silence. Silence Captured Me.

A Great Age Of Literature Is Perhaps Always A Great Age Of Translations.

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

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!

Come, Let Us Pity Those Who Are Better Off Than We Are. Come, My Friend, And Remember That The Rich Have Butlers And No Friends, And We Have Friends And No Butlers. (excerpt From 'the Garrett')