We Have No Choice But To Be

Poets... Are Literal-minded Men Who Will Squeeze A Word Till It Hurts.

There Is No Dusk To Be, There Is No Dawn That Was, Only There's Now, And Now, And The Wind In The Grass.

Love Becomes The Ultimate Answer To The Ultimate Human Question.

That Peculiar Disease Of Intellectuals, That Infatuation With Ideas At The Expense Of Experience, That Compels Experience To Conform To Bookish Expectations.

Wildness And Silence Disappeared From The Countryside, Sweetness Fell From The Air, Not Because Anyone Wished Them To Vanish Or Fall But Because Throughways Had To Floor The Meadows With Cement To Carry The Automobiles Which Advancing Technology Produced. Tropical Beaches Turned Into High-priced Slums Where Thousand-room Hotels Elbowed Each Other For Glimpses Of Once-famous Surf Not Because Those Who Loved The Beaches Wanted Them There But Because Enormous Jets Could Bring A Million Tourists Every Year - And Therefore Did.