To Break The Pentameter, That Was 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.

I Would Hold The Rosy, Slender Fingers Of The Dawn For You.

What Thou Lovest Well Remains.

The Only Chance For Victory Over The Brainwash Is The Right Of Every Man To Have His Ideas Judged One At A Time. You Never Get Clarity As Long As You Have These Packaged Words, As Long As A Word Is Used By Twenty-five People In Twenty-five Different Ways. That Seems To Me To Be The First Fight, If There Is Going To Be Any Intellect Left.

The What Is So Much More Important Than How.