All My Life I Have Lived And

Topography Displays No Favorites; North's As Near As West. More Delicate Than The Historians' Are The Map-makers' Colors.

Sometimes It Seemsas Though Only Intelligent People Are Stupid Enough To Fall In Love & Only Stupid People Are Intelligent Enough To Let Themselves Be Loved.

Even Losing You (the Joking Voice, A Gesture I Love) I Shan't Have Lied. It's Evident The Art Of Losing's Not Too Hard To Master Though It May Look Like (write It!) Like Disaster.

And As To Experience-well, Think How Little Some Good Poets Have Had, Or How Much Some Bad Ones Have.

What One Seems To Want In Art, In Experiencing It, Is The Same Thing That Is Necessary For Its Creation, A Self-forgetful, Perfectly Useless Concentration.