Perhaps This Very Instant Is Your Time.

It Is Almost Impossible For The Poetess, Once Laurelled, To Take Off The Crown For Good Or To Reject Values And Taste Of Those Who Tender It.

The Fact, And The Intuition Or Logic About The Fact, Are Severe Coordinates In Fiction. In The Short Story They Must Cross With Hair-line Precision.

At Midnight Tears Run Into Your Ears.

Because Language Is The Carrier Of Ideas, It Is Easy To Believe That It Should Be Very Little Else Than Such A Carrier.

Up From The Bronze, I Saw Water Without A Flaw Rush To Its Rest In Air Reach To Its Rest, And Fall.