For Poetry There Exists Neither Large Countries

Like A Bird With Broken Wing That Has Traveled Through Wind For Years . . . I Sleep And My Heart Stays Awake . . .

A Lion Is Made Up Of The Lambs He's Digested.

For Poetry There Exists Neither Large Countries Nor Small. Its Domain Is In The Heart Of All Men.

Every Man Of Action Has A Strong Dose Of Egoism, Pride, Hardness, And Cunning. But All Those Things Will Be Regarded As High Qualities If He Can Make Them The Means To Achieve Great Ends.

Leaves Like Rusty Tin For The Desolate Mind That Has Seen The End- The Barest Glimmerings. Leaves Aswirl With Gulls Made Wild By Winter.