To Give Emphasis Only To Beauty Makes

Nature Is Garrulous To The Point Of Confusion, Let The Artist Be Truly Taciturn.

My Self . . . Is A Dramatic Ensemble. Here A Prophetic Ancestor Makes His Appearance. Here A Brutal Hero Shouts. Here An Alcoholic Bon Vivant Argues With A Learned Professor. Here A Lyric Muse, Chronically Love-struck, Raises Her Eyes To Heaven. Her Papa Steps Forward, Uttering Pedantic Protests. Here The Indulgent Uncle Intercedes. Here The Aunt Babbles Gossip. Here The Maid Giggles Lasciviously. And I Look Upon It All With Amazement, The Sharpened Pen In My Left Hand.

A Single Day Is Enough To Make Us A Little Larger Or, Another Time, A Little Smaller.

My Hand Has Become The Obedient Instrument Of A Remote Will.

Genius Is The Error In The System.