My God! What Has Sound Got To

An Apparent Confusion, If Lived With Long Enough, May Become Orderly . . . A Rare Experience Of A Moment At Daybreak, When Something In Nature Seems To Reveal All Consciousness, Cannot Be Explained At Noon. Yet It Is Part Of The Day's Unity

You Cannot Set Art Off In A Corner And Hope For It To Have Vitality, Reality, And Substance.

All Melodious Poets Shall Be Hoarse As Street Ballads, When Once The Penetrating Keynote Of Nature And Spirit Is Sounded-the Earth-beat, Sea-beat, Heart-beat, Which Make The Tune To Which The Sun Rolls, And The Globule Of Blood And The Sap Of The Trees.

It Is Conceivable That What Is Unified Form To The Author Or Composer May Of Necessity Be Formless To His Audience.

Expression, To A Great Extent, Is A Matter Of Terms, And Terms Are Anyone's.