All Are / Naked, None Is Safe.

I, Too, Dislike It. Reading It, However, With A Perfect Contempt For It, One Discovers In It, After All, A Place For The Genuine.

The Mind Is An Enchanting Thing.

When One Cannot Appraise Out Of One's Own Experience, The Temptation To Blunder Is Minimized, But Even When One Can, Appraisal Seems Chiefly Useful As Appraisal Of The Appraiser.

In A Poem The Words Should Be As Pleasing To The Ear As The Meaning Is To The Mind.

It Is In General True That In Order To Create Works Of Art One Has To Have Leisure. On The Other Hand I Think That One Needs To Experience Resistance In A Practical Sense, And Even That Which Is Poignant To Bring Out What Makes Easy Reading For Others. Too Much Deprivation Of Course, Means Death.