And Then I Asked Him With My

What Did It Avail To Pray When He Knew His Soul Lusted After Its Own Destruction?

All Fiction Is Autobiographical Fantasy.

Shut Your Eyes And See.

Poetry, Even When Apparently Most Fantastic, Is Always A Revolt Against Artifice, A Revolt, In A Sense, Against Actuality. It Speaks Of What Seems Fantastic And Unreal To Those Who Have Lost The Simple Intuitions Which Are The Test Of Reality; And, As It Is Often Found At War With Its Age, So It Makes No Account Of History, Which Is Fabled By The Daughters Of Memory.

Though Their Life Was Modest, They Believed In Eating Well.