Writing Is An Undertaking For The Modest.

It Is In General True That In Order To Create Works Of Art One Has To Have Leisure. On The Other Hand I Think That One Needs To Experience Resistance In A Practical Sense, And Even That Which Is Poignant To Bring Out What Makes Easy Reading For Others. Too Much Deprivation Of Course, Means Death.

The Sea Is A Collector, Quick To Return A Rapacious Look.

[the] Whirlwind Fife-and-drum Of The Storm Bends The Salt Marsh Grass, Disturbs Stars In The Sky And The Star On The Steeple; It Is A Privilege To See So Much Confusion.

Below The Incandescent Stars / Below The Incandescent Fruit, / The Strange Experience Of Beauty; / Its Existence Is Too Much; / It Tears One To Pieces / And Each Fresh Wave Of Consciousness / Is Poison.

The Mind Is An Enchanting Thing.