I Have Always Thought The Suicide Should

The Apparition Of These Faces In The Crowd; Petals On A Wet Black Bough.

Usury Is The Cancer Of The World, Which Only The Surgeon’s Knife Of Fascism Can Cut Out Of The Life Of The Nations.

And The Good Writer Chooses His Words For Their 'meaning', But That Meaning Is Not A A Set, Cut-off Thing Like The Move Of Knight Or Pawn On A Chess-board. It Comes Up With Roots, With Associations, With How And Where The Word Is Familiarly Used, Or Where It Has Been Used Brilliantly Or Memorably.

The Primary Pigment Of Poetry Is The Image.

I Ask A Wreathwhich Will Not Crush My Head. And There Is No Hurry About It; I Shall Have, Doubtless, A Boom After My Funeral, Seeing That Long Standing Increases All Things Regardless Of Quality.