A Mother Never Realizes That Her Children

By Some Chance, Here They Are, All On This Earth; And Who Shall Ever Tell The Sorrow Of Being On This Earth, Lying, On Quilts, On The Grass In A Summer Evening, Among The Sounds Of The Night. May God Bless My People, My Uncle, My Aunt, My Mother, My Good Father, Oh, Remember Them Kindly In Their Time Of Trouble; And In The Hour Of Their Taking Away.

One Thing I Feel Is This: That A Great Deal Of Poetry Is The Product Of Adolescence-or Of An Emotionally Adolescent Frame Of Mind: And That As This State Of Mind Changes, Poetry Is Likely To Dry Up.

Isn’t Every Human Being Both A Scientist And An Artist; And In Writing Of Human Experience, Isn’t There A Good Deal To Be Said For Recognizing That Fact And For Using Both Methods?

As A Whole Part Of "psychological Education" It Needs To Be Remembered That A Neurosis Can Be Valuable; Also That "adjustment" To A Sick And Insane Environment Is Of Itself Not "health" But Sickness And Insanity.

Seems As Unfounded ... To Say There Isn't A God As To Say There Is.