Literature Is Composed Of Quarter Truths, And

It Art Can Only Succeed Through The Cooperating Imagination And Intelligence Of Its Consumers, Who Fill Out, For Themselves, The Artist's World And Make It Round, And Whose Own Special Genius Partly Determine The Ultimate Glory Of It.

We Converse As We Live By Repeating, By Combining And Recombining A Few Elements Over And Over Again Just As Nature Does When Of Elementary Particles It Builds A World.

I Do Have A Very Conscious Desire Not To Be Academic. I'm Antiacademic. I Hate Jargon. I Hate That Sort Of Pretension. I Am A Person Who [commits] Breaches Of Decorum - Not In Private Life, But In My Work. They Are Part Of My Mode Of Operation. That Kind Of Playfulness Is Part Of My Nature In General. The Paradox That, In A Way, To Take Something Very Seriously, You Can't Always Be Serious About It.

So To The Wretched Writer I Should Like To Say That There’s One Body Only Whose Request For Your Caresses Is Not Vulgar, Is Not Unchaste, Untoward, Or Impolite: The Body Of Your Work Itself; For You Must Remember That Your Attentions Will Not Merely Celebrate A Beauty But Create One; That Yours Is Love That Brings It Own Birth With It, Just As Plato Has Declared, And That You Should Therefore Give Up The Blue Things Of This World In Favor Of The Words Which Say Them

In General, I Would Think That At Present Prose Writers Are Much In Advance Of The Poets. In The Old Days, I Read More Poetry Than Prose, But Now It Is In Prose Where You Find Things Being Put Together Well, Where There Is Great Ambition, And Equal Talent. Poets Have Gotten So Careless, It Is A Disgrace. You Can’t Pick Up A Page. All The Words Slide Off.