Heaven Gives Its Glimpses Only To Those

Yes, And Even For The Past...that It Will Turn Out To Have Been All Right For What It Was. Something I Can Accept. Mistakes Made By The Self I Had To Be Or Was Not Able To Be.

I Heard Someone Say He [carl Sandburg] Was The Kind Of Writer Who Had Everything To Gain And Nothing To Lose By Being Translated Into Another Language.

The Sweet Of Bitter Bark And Burning Clove.

Everything Written Is As Good As It Is Dramatic. It Need Not Declare Itself In Form, But It Is Drama Or Nothing.

The Figure A Poem Makes. It Begins In Delight And Ends In Wisdom.