God Made Food; The Devil The Cooks.

Poetry, Even When Apparently Most Fantastic, Is Always A Revolt Against Artifice, A Revolt, In A Sense, Against Actuality.

He Thought That He Was Sick In His Heart If You Could Be Sick In That Place.

Let Us Leave Theories There And Return To Here's Hear.

Have Read Little And Understood Less.

A Wild Angel Had Appeared To Him, The Angel Of Mortal Youth And Beauty, An Envoy From The Fair Courts Of Life, To Throw Open Before Him In An Instant Of Ecstasy The Gates Of All The Ways Of Error And Glory.