Poetry Can Be Criticized Only Through Poetry.

The Analytical Writer Observes The Reader As He Is; Accordingly, He Makes His Calculation, Sets His Machine To Make The Appropriate Effect On Him. The Synthetic Writer Constructs And Creates His Own Reader; He Does Not Imagine Him As Resting And Dead, But Lively And Advancing Toward Him. He Makes That Which He Had Invented Gradually Take Shape Before The Reader's Eyes, Or He Tempts Him To Do The Inventing For Himself. He Does Not Want To Make A Particular Effect On Him, But Rather Enters Into A Solemn Relationship Of Innermost Symphilosophy Or Sympoetry.

Irony Is A Clear Consciousness Of An Eternal Agility, Of The Infinitely Abundant Chaos.

In England, Wit Is At Least A Profession, If Not An Art. Everything Becomes Professional There, And Even The Rogues Of That Islandare Pedants. So Are The "wits" There Too. They Introduce Into Reality Absolute Freedom Whose Reflection Lends A Romantic And Piquant Air To Wit, And Thus They Live Wittily; Hence Their Talent For Madness. They Die For Their Principles.

One Of Two Things Is Usually Lacking In The So-called Philosophy Of Art: Either Philosophy Or Art.

We Do Not See God, But Everywhere We See Something Divine; First And Most Typically In The Center Of A Reasonable Man, In The Depth Of A Living Human Product. You Can Directly Feel And Think Nature, The Universe, But Not The Godhead. Only The Man Among Men Can Poetize And Think Divinely And Live With Religion.