A Thousand Kindnesses Do Not Make Up

The Intellectual Is A Middle-class Product; If He Is Not Born Into The Class He Must Soon Insert Himself Into It, In Order To Exist. He Is The Fine Nervous Flower Of The Bourgeoisie.

Innocence Of Heart And Violence Of Feeling Are Necessary In Any Kind Of Superior Achievement: The Arts Cannot Exist Without Them.

What We Suffer, What We Endure, What We Muff, What We Kill, What We Miss, What We Are Guilty Of, Is Done By Us, As Individuals, In Private.

Poetry Is Often Generations In Advance Of The Thought Of Its Time.

It Is Not Possible, For A Poet, Writing In Any Language, To Protect Himself From The Tragic Elements In Human Life.... [ellipsis In Source] Illness, Old Age, And Death--subjects As Ancient As Humanity--these Are The Subjects That The Poet Must Speak Of Very Nearly From The First Moment That He Begins To Speak.