It Has Never Been Recommended To Confuse

Poetry Proceeds From The Totality Of Man, Sense, Imagination, Intellect, Love, Desire, Instinct, Blood And Spirit Together.

That Is Why I Think, In Defiance Of Plato, That There Is At Once Error And Vulgarity In Saying That Poetry Is A Lie, Except In The Sense That Cocteau Wrote One Day: I Am A Lie Who Always Tells The Truth. The Only Poetry Which Lies Purely And Simply Is Academic, Pseudo-classical, Conceptually Repetitive Poetry, And It Is Not Poetry.

For To Love Is To Give What One Is, His Very Being, In The Most Absolute, The Most Brazenly Metaphysical, The Least Phenomenalizable Sense Of This Word.

It Is Impossible For A Christian To Be A Relativist.

Gratitude Is The Most Exquisite Form Of Courtesy.