The Whisper Of The Blood And The

No, What I Should Really Like To Do Right Now, In The Full Blaze Of Lights, Before This Illustrious Assembly, Is To Shower Every One Of You With Gifts, With Flowers, With Offerings Of Poetry - To Be Young Once More, To Ride On The Crest Of The Wave.

I Love Three Things," I Then Say. "i Love A Dream Of Love I Once Had, I Love You, And I Love This Patch Of Earth." "and Which Do You Love Best?" "the Dream.

I Can't Even Make Up A Rhyme About An Umbrella, Let Alone Death And Life And Eternal Peace.

The Writer Must Be Able To Revel And Roll In The Abundance Of Words; He Must Know Not Only The Direct But Also The Secret Power Of A Word. There Are Overtones And Undertones To A Word, And Lateral Echoes, Too.

Language Must Resound With All The Harmonies Of Music. The Writer Must Always, At All Times, Find The Tremulous Word Which Captures The Thing And Is Able To Draw A Sob From My Soul By Its Very Rightness.