America, My Country, Is Almost A Continent

The Art Of Letters Will Come To An End Before A.d. 2000. I Shall Survive As A Curiosity.

Colloquial Poetry Is To The Real Art As The Barber's Wax Dummy Is To Sculpture.

The Flavors Of The Peach And The Apricot Are Not Lost From Generation To Generation. Neither Are They Transmitted By Book Learning.

One Discards Rhyme, Not Because One Is Incapable Of Rhyming Neat, Fleet, Sweet, Meet, Treat, Eat, Feet But Because There Are Certain Emotions Or Energies Which Are Nor Represented By The Over-familiar Devices Or Patterns.

Utter Originality Is, Of Course, Out Of The Question.