The Twentieth Century Had A Wonderful Capacity

Reason To Rule, Mercy To Forgive: The First Is Law, The Last Prerogative.

What Is Forgiven Is Usually Well Remembered.

In A Poem, The Words Happen; They Just Come. I Let Them. Otherwise, I Wouldn't Write. To Interfere With What Is Happening Is To Distort The Poem. Just A Very Small Degree Of Intelligence And Supervision Is Necessary. Very Tactful. Any Revision Later That Violates The Text As It Came, That Begins Rewriting The Words, Is Fake.

There Are Two Kinds Of People; Those Who Are Always Well And Those Who Are Always Sick. Most Of The Evils Of The World Come From The First Sort And Most Of The Achievement From The Second.

Intellectually, Most People Never Wash. They Never Free Their Minds Of The Accumulated Rubbish Of Centuries.