Anxiety Is The Hand Maiden Of Creativity.

Unreal Friendship May Turn To Real But Real Friendship, Once Ended, Cannot Be Mended

Not The Intense Moment Isolated, With No Before And After, But A Lifetime Burning In Every Moment.

The Ordinary Man's Experience Is Chaotic, Irregular, Fragmentary. [he] Falls In Love Or Reads Spinoza, And These Two Experiences Have Nothing To Do With Each Other, Or With The Noise Of The Typewriter, Or The Smell Of Cooking; In The Mind Of The Poet These Experiences Are Always Forming New Wholes

In Order To Possess What You Do Not Possess, You Must Go By The Way Of Dispossession.

The Poet's Mind Is In Fact A Receptacle For Seizing And Storing Up Numberless Feelings, Phrases, Images, Which Remain There Until All The Particles Which Can Unite To Form A New Compound Are Present Together.