Poetry Must Be As New As Foam

What Does Long Life Avail? The Best Seats At The Funerals Of Friends.

Each Minute Bursts In The Burning Room,the Great Globe Reels In The Solar Fire,spinning The Trivial And Unique Away.(how All Things Flash! How All Things Flare!)what Am I Now That I Was Then?may Memory Restore Again And Againthe Smallest Color Of The Smallest Day:time Is The School In Which We Learn,time Is The Fire In Which We Burn.

I Always Cause Those Who Are Near To Me More Suffering Than Pleasure.

Literary Party: A Traffic Jam Of The Lost Waiting For The Ferry Across The Styx.

All Literature Is An Effort At The Formal Character Of The Epigram.