My Name Is Only An Anagram Of

Except For The Point, The Still Point, There Would Be No Dance, And There Is Only The Dance

Writing Every Day Is A Way Of Keeping The Engine Running, And Then Something Good May Come Out Of It.

What Is True, Is True Only For One Time And Only For One Place.

I Confess . . . That I Am Not Myself Very Much Concerned With The Question Of Influence, Or With Those Publicists Who Have Impressed Their Names Upon The Public By Catching The Morning Tide And Rowing Very Vast In The Direction In Which The Current Was Flowing; But Rather That There Should Always Be A Few Writers Preoccupied In Penetrating To The Core Of The Matter, In Trying To Arrive At The Truth And To Set It Forth, Without Too Much Hope, Without Ambition To Alter The Immediate Course Of Affairs, And Without Being Downcast Or Defeated When Nothing Appears To Ensue.

And Voices Singing Out Of Empty Cisterns And Exhausted Wells.