I Am Aware Of The Damp Souls

Can We Only Love Something Created In Our Own Imaginations? Are We All In Fact Unloving And Unloveable? Then One Is Alone, And If One Is Alone Then Lover And Beloved Are Equally Unreal And The Dreamer Is No More Real Than His Dreams.

If We Are Moved By A Poem, It Has Meant Something, Perhaps Something Important, To Us; If We Are Not Moved, Then It Is, As Poetry, Meaningless.

The Very Existence Of Libraries Affords The Best Evidence That We May Yet Have Hope For The Future Of Man

The Bad Poet Is Usually Unconscious Where He Ought To Be Conscious, And Conscious Where He Ought To Be Unconscious.

Should I, After Tea And Cakes And Ices, Have The Strength To Force The Moment To Its Crisis?