Guilt Is The One Burden Human Beings

At First I Protested And Rebelled Against Poetry. I Was About To Deny My Poetic Worlds. I Was Doing Violence To My Illusions With Analysis, Science, And Learning Henry’s Language, Entering Henry’s World. I Wanted To Destroy By Violence And Animalism My Tenuous Fantasies And Illusions And My Hypersensitivity. A Kind Of Suicide. The Ignominy Awakened Me. Then June Came And Answered The Cravings Of My Imagination And Saved Me. Or Perhaps She Killed Me, For Now I Am Started On A Course Of Madness.

The Way To Recognize A Dead Word Is That It Exudes Boredom.

I Wanted To Remember In Order To Be Able To Return.

Perhaps The Only Magician We Have Is The Artist.

The Creative Personality Never Remains Fixed On The First World It Discovers. It Never Resigns Itself To Anything.