And In The Mean Time My Songs

Music Begins To Atrophy When It Departs Too Far From The Dance... Poetry Begins To Atrophy When It Gets Too Far From Music.

The Modern Artist Must Live By Craft And Violence. His Gods Are Violent Gods. Those Artists, So Called, Whose Work Does Not Show This Strife, Are Uninteresting.

Go To The Adolescent Who Are Smothered In Family-- Oh How Hideous It Is To See Three Generations Of One House Gathered Together! It Is Like An Old Tree With Shoots, And With Some Branches Rotted And Falling.

'tis Not Need We Know Our Every Thought Or See The Work Shop Where Each Mask Is Wrought Wherefrom We View The World Of Box And Pit, Careless Of Wear, Just So The Mask Shall Fit And Serve Our Jape's Turn For A Night Or Two.

My Pawing Over The Ancients And Semi-ancients Has Been One Struggle To Find Out What Has Been Done, Once And For All, Better Than It Can Ever Be Done Again, And To Find Out What Remains For Us To Do, And Plenty Does Remain, For If We Still Feel The Same Emotions As Those Who Launched A Thousand Ships, It Is Quite Certain That We Came On These Feelings Differently, Through Different Nuances, By Different Intellectual Gradations. Each Age Has Its Own Abounding Gifts Yet Only Some Ages Transmute Them Into Matters Of Duration.