The Arts Are Life Accelerated And Concentrated.

What An Artist Is For Is To Tell Us What We See But Do Not Know That We See.

The Poet Speaks To All Men Of That Other Life Of Theirs That They Have Smothered And Forgotten.

Rhythm Is One Of The Principal Translators Between Dream And Reality.

Our Hearts Seemed Safe In Our Breasts And Sang To The Light The Marrow In The Bone We Dreamed Was Safe. . . The Blood In The Veins, The Sap In The Tree Were Springs Of Deity.

I Am An Unpopular Electric Eel Set In A Pond Of Goldfish.