But The One Thing You Should. Not

It Ought To Be Illegal For An Artist To Marry. If The Artist Must Marry Let Him Find Someone More Interested In Art, Or His Art, Or The Artist Part Of Him, Than In Him. After Which Let Them Take Tea Together Three Times A Week.

Man Is An Over-complicated Organism. If He Is Doomed To Extinction He Will Die Out For Want Of Simplicity.

And New York Is The Most Beautiful City In The World? It Is Not Far From It. No Urban Night Is Like The Night There... Squares After Squares Of Flame, Set Up And Cut Into The Aether. Here Is Our Poetry, For We Have Pulled Down The Stars To Our Will.

The Eyes Of This Dead Lady Speak To Me For Here Was Love, Was Not To Be Drowned Out. And Here Desire, Not To Be Kissed Away. The Eyes Of This Dead Lady Speak To Me.

Poetry Is A Sort Of Inspired Mathematics, Which Gives Us Equations, Not For Abstract Figures, Triangles, Squares, And The Like, But For The Human Emotions. If One Has A Mind Which Inclines To Magic Rather Than Science, One Will Prefer To Speak Of These Equations As Spells Or Incantations; It Sounds More Arcane, Mysterious, Recondite.