Sowing Is Not As Difficult As Reaping.

The Question "from Where Does The Poet Get It?" Addresses Only The What, Nobody Learns Anything About The How When Asking That Question.

Names Are But Noise And Smoke, Obscuring Heavenly Light.

Toleration Ought In Reality To Be Merely A Transitory Mood. It Must Lead To Recognition. To Tolerate Is To Affront.

You Can’t, If You Can’t Feel It, If It Never Rises From The Soul, And Sways The Heart Of Every Single Hearer, With Deepest Power, In Simple Ways. You’ll Sit Forever, Gluing Things Together, Cooking Up A Stew From Other’s Scraps, Blowing On A Miserable Fire, Made From Your Heap Of Dying Ash. Let Apes And Children Praise Your Art, If Their Admiration’s To Your Taste, But You’ll Never Speak From Heart To Heart, Unless It Rises Up From Your Heart’s Space.

Man Would Not Be The Finest Creature In The World If He Were Not Too Fine For It.