Something Needn't Be Large To Be Good.

Open The Book. (the Gilt Rubs Off The Edges Of The Pages And Pollinates The Fingertips.)

What Childishness Is It That While There's Breath Of Life In Our Bodies, We Are Determined To Rush To See The Sun The Other Way Around?

I Hated The Salinger Story. It Took Me Days To Go Through It, Gingerly, A Page At A Time, And Blushing With Embarrassment For Him Every Ridiculous Sentence Of The Way. How Can They Let Him Do It?

And As To Experience-well, Think How Little Some Good Poets Have Had, Or How Much Some Bad Ones Have.

All My Life I Have Lived And Behaved Very Much Like The Sandpiper - Just Running Down The Edges Of Different Countries And Continents, 'looking For Something'.