All Great Art Contains An Element Of

Good Taste Is The Worst Vice Ever Invented.

The Poet Speaks To All Men Of That Other Life Of Theirs That They Have Smothered And Forgotten.

Virginia Woolf's Writing Is No More Than Glamorous Knitting. I Believe She Must Have A Pattern Somewhere.

My Poems Are Hymns Of Praise To The Glory Of Life.

Still Falls The Rain - Dark As The World Of Man, Black As Our Loss - Blind As The Nineteen Hundred And Forty Nails Upon The Cross.