By The Time I Was Eleven Years

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

The Poet Is A Brother Speaking To A Brother Of "a Moment Of Their Other Lives" - A Moment That Had Been Buried Beneath The Dust Of The Busy World.

I Have Often Wished I Had Time To Cultivate Modesty... But I Am Too Busy Thinking About Myself.

I Am Patient With Stupidity But Not With Those Who Are Proud Of It.

All Great Poetry Is Dipped In The Dyes Of The Heart.