I Was Last In Rome In Ad

As Was The Custom In Such Cases, The Pear Tree Was Charged With Murder And Sentenced To Be Uprooted And Burned.

As You Are Woman, So Be Lovely: As You Are Lovely, So Be Various, Merciful As Constant, Constant As Various, So Be Mine, As I Yours For Ever.

Poet, Never Chase The Dream. Laugh Yourself And Turn Away. Mask Your Hunger, Let It Seem Small Matter If He Come Or Stay; But When He Nestles In Your Hand At Last, Close Up Your Fingers Tight And Hold Him Fast.

Philosophy Is Antipoetic. Philosophize About Mankind And You Brush Aside Individual Uniqueness, Which A Poet Cannot Do Without Self-damage. Unless, For A Start, He Has A Strong Personal Rhythm To Vary His Metrics, He Is Nothing. Poets Mistrust Philosophy. They Know That Once The Heads Are Counted, Each Owner Of A Head Loses His Personal Identify And Becomes A Number In Some Government Scheme: If Not As A Slave Or Serf, At Least As A Party To The Device Of Majority Voting, Which Smothers Personal Views.

What We Now Call "finance" Is, I Hold, An Intellectual Perversion Of What Began As Warm Human Love.