Modern Poets Talk Against Business, Poor Things,

Ends And Beginnings—there Are No Such Things. There Are Only Middles.

My Definition Of Poetry (if I Were Forced To Give One) Would Be This: Words That Have Become Deeds.

Summoning Artists To Participate In The August Occasions Of The State Seems Something Artists Ought To Celebrate. Today Is For My Cause A Day Of Days.

All Great Things Are Done For Their Own Sake.

Nothing Not Built With Hands Of Course Is Sacred. But Here Is Not A Question Of What's Sacred; Rather Of What To Face Or Run Away From. I'd Hate To Be A Runaway From Nature.