But Childhood Prolonged, Cannot Remain A Fairyland.

I Have Lost Faith In Universal Panaceas - Work Is The One Thing In Which I Really Believe.

I Cannot Believe That The Inscrutable Universe Turns On An Axis Of Suffering; Surely The Strange Beauty Of The World Must Somewhere Rest On Pure Joy!

No More Pronouncements On Lousy Verse. No More Hidden Competition. No More Struggling Not To Be A Square.

But It's Silly To Suggest The Writing Of Poetry Is Something Ethereal, A Sort Of Soul-crashing, Devastating Emotional Experience That Wrings You. I Have No Fancy Ideas About Poetry. ... It Doesn't Come To You On The Wings Of A Dove. It's Something You Have To Work Hard At.

It Is Through The Acceptance Of A Variety Of Aethetic And Intellectual Points Of View That A Culture Is Given Breadth And Density.