The Only Way Out Is To Go

Style Is That Which Indicates How The Writer Takes Himself And What He Is Saying. It Is The Mind Skating Circles Around Itself As It Moves Forward.

The Rain To The Wind Said, You Push And I'll Pelt.' They So Smote The Garden Bed That The Flowers Actually Knelt, And Lay Lodged--though Not Dead. I Know How The Flowers Felt.

Evolution Is Like Walking On A Rolling Barrel. The Walker Isn't So Much Interested In Where The Barrel Is Going As He Is In Keeping On Top Of It.

I Dwell With A Strangely Aching Heart In That Vanished Abode There Far Apart

You've Often Heard Me Say - Perhaps Too Often - That Poetry Is What Is Lost In Translation. It Is Also What Is Lost In Interpretation. That Little Poem Means Just What It Says And It Says What It Means, Nothing Less But Nothing More.