All Great Poetry Is Dipped In The

The Living Blind And Seeing Dead Together Lie As If In Love . . . There Was No More Hating Then, And No More Love; Gone Is The Heart Of Man.

What An Artist Is For Is To Tell Us What We See But Do Not Know That We See.

Winter Is The Time For Comfort, For Good Food And Warmth, For The Touch Of A Friendly Hand And For A Talk Beside The Fire: It Is The Time For Home.

As For The Usefulness Of Poetry, Its Uses Are Many. It Is The Deification Of Reality. It Should Make Our Days Holy To Us. The Poet Should Speak To All Men, For A Moment, Of That Other Life Of Theirs That They Have Smothered And Forgotten.

I Have Never, In All My Life, Been So Odious As To Regard Myself As 'superior' To Any Living Being, Human Or Animal. I Just Walked Alone - As I Have Always Walked Alone.