What Am I That I Am Called

Every Notion That Any Man, Dead, Living, Or Unborn, Might Form As To The Universe Will Necessarily Prove Wrong

Poetry Is Man's Rebellion Against Being What He Is.

People Never Want To Be Told Anything They Do Not Believe Already.

Love, I Take It, Must Look Toward Something Not Quite Accessible, Something Not Quite Understood.

I Fight Against The Gluttony Of Time With So Many Very Amusing Weapons With Gestures And With Three Attitudes And With Charming Phrases; With Tears And With Tinsel, And With Sugar-coated Pills, And With Platitudes Slightly Regilded. Yes, And I Fight Him Also With Little Mirrors Wherein Gleam Confusedly The Corruptions Of Lust, And Ruddy Loyalty, And A Bit Of Moonshine, And The Pure Diamond Of The Heart's Desire, And The Opal Cloudings Of Human Compromise: But, Above All, I Fight That Ravening Dotard With The Strength Of My Own Folly.