It Is Impossible To Design A System

A Thousand Policemen Directing Traffic Cannot Tell You Why You Come Or Where You Go.

It Is A Test (a Positive Test, I Do Not Assert That It Is Always Valid Negatively), That Genuine Poetry Can Communicate Before It Is Understood.

O Lord, Deliver Me From The Man Of Excellent Intention And Impure Heart: For The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things, And Desperately Wicked.

Our Emotions Are Only “incidents” In The Effort To Keep Day And Night Together.

Trying To Use Words, And Every Attempt Is A Wholly New Start, And A Different Kind Of Failure Because One Has Only Learnt To Get The Better Of Words For The Thing One No Longer Has To Say, Or The Way In Which One Is No Longer Disposed To Say It. And So Each Venture Is A New Beginning, A Raid On The Inarticulate With Shabby Equipment Always Deteriorating In The General Mess Of Imprecision Of Feeling.