Rapture's Self Is Three Parts Sorrow.

Don’t Ask A Writer What He’s Working On. It’s Like Asking Someone With Cancer On The Progress Of His Disease.

Great Emotion Always Tends To Become Rhythmic, And Out Of That Tendency The Forms Of Art Have Been Evolved. Art Becomes Artificial Only When The Forms Take Precedence Over The Emotion.

How Much More Beautiful Is The Moon, Slanting Down The Gauffered Branches Of A Plum-tree; The Moon Wavering Across A Bed Of Tulips; The Moon, Still, Upon Your Face. You Shine, Beloved, You And The Moon. But Which Is The Reflection?

My Words Are Little Jars For You To Take And Put Upon A Shelf. Their Shapes Are Quaint And Beautiful, And They Have Many Pleasant Colours And Lustres To Recommend Them. Also The Scent From Them Fills The Room With Sweetness Of Flowers And Crushed Grasses.

To Understand Vers Libre, One Must Abandon All Desire To Find In It The Even Rhythm Of Metrical Feet. One Must Allow The Lines To Flow As They Will When Read Aloud By An Intelligent Reader.