The Poet Is The Complete Lover Of

What An Artist Is For Is To Tell Us What We See But Do Not Know That We See.

There Is No Truth. Only Points Of View.

But I Saw The Little-ant Men As They Ran Carrying The World's Weight Of The World's Filth And The Filth In The Heart Of Man-- Compressed Till Those Lusts And Greeds Had A Greater Heat Than That Of The Sun.

Virginia Woolf, I Enjoyed Talking To Her, But Thought Nothing Of Her Writing. I Considered Her 'a Beautiful Little Knitter.

I Have Often Wished I Had Time To Cultivate Modesty... But I Am Too Busy Thinking About Myself.