In Times Of Joy, All Of Us

We Are Lived By Powers We Pretend To Understand.

The Stars Are Dead. The Animals Will Not Look: We Are Left Alone With Our Day, And The Time Is Short, And History To The Defeated May Say Alas But Cannot Help Nor Pardon.

The Most Important Truths Are Likely To Be Those Which Society At That Time Least Wants To Hear.

Criticism Should Be A Casual Conversation.

Every American Poet Feels That The Whole Responsibility For Contemporary Poetry Has Fallen Upon His Shoulders, That He Is A Literary Aristocracy Of One.