Myth Is A Tale Once Believed As

Because Most People Are Not Sufficiently Employed In Themselves, They Run About Loose, Hungering For Employment, And Satisfy Themselves In Various Supererogatory Occupations. The Easiest Of These Occupations, Which Have All To Do With Making Things Already Made, Is The Making Of People: It Is Called The Art Of Friendship.

When Modernist Poetry, Or What Not So Long Ago Passed For Modernist Poetry, Can Reach The Stage Where The Following Piece By Mr. Ezra Pound Is Seriously Offered As A Poem, There Is Some Justification For The Plain Reader And Orthodox Critic Who Shrinks From Anything That May Be Labelled 'modernist' Either In Terms Of Condemnation Or Approbation. Better He Thinks, That Ten Authentic Poets Should Be Left For Posterity To Discover Than One Charlatan Should Be Allowed To Steal Into The Temple Of Fame.

Women, Ever Since There Have Been Women, Have Had A Way Of Being People.

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.

Truth Rings No Bells.