Women, Ever Since There Have Been Women,

Poetry Is A Sleep-maker For That Which Sits Up Late In Us Listening For The Footfall Of The Future On To-day's Doorstep.

In Religion Is Much Tiredness Of People, A Giving Over Of Their Doing To Someone Else.

Anger Is Precious Because It Is An Immediate, Undeniable Clue To What Our Minds (so Much More Cautious In Rejection And Resistance Than Our Bodies) Will Not Tolerate.

Evil I Had Never Found Satisfactorily Placeable As An Integral Element Of The Universal, Or Total, Content Of Existence. Indeed, Evil Is Evil Just Because There Is No Logical Place For It, No Room In Reality For It. It Is Unreal, And Yet Real As Something Unreal.

The End Of Poetry Is Not To Create A Physical Condition Which Shall Give Pleasure To The Mind... The End Of Poetry Is Not An After-effect, Not A Pleasurable Memory Of Itself, But An Immediate, Constant And Even Unpleasant Insistence Upon Itself.