Pessimism Does Win Us Great Happy Moments.

By Its Very Looseness, By Its Way Of Evoking Rather Than Defining, Suggesting Rather Than Saying, English Is A Magnificent Vehicle For Emotional Poetry.

Not Philosophy, After All, Not Humanity, Just Sheer Joyous Power Of Song, Is The Primal Thing In Poetry.

Few, As I Have Said, Are The Humorists Who Can Induce This State. To Master And Dissolve Us, To Give Us The Joy Of Being Worn Down And Tired Out With Laughter, Is A Success To Be Won By No Man Save In Virtue Of A Rare Staying-power. Laughter Becomes Extreme Only If It Be Consecutive. There Must Be No Pauses For Recovery. Touch-and-go Humour, However Happy, Is Not Enough. The Jester Must Be Able To Grapple His Theme And Hang On To It, Twisting It This Way And That, And Making It Yield Magically All Manner Of Strange And Precious Things.

I Have Known No Man Of Genius Who Had Not To Pay, In Some Affliction Or Defect, Either Physical Or Spiritual, For What The Gods Had Given Him.

Heroes Are Very Human, Most Of Them; Very Easily Touched By Praise.