The Formula For Prison Is A Lack

Out Of Dostoevsky: Kafka. Out Of Tolstoy: Margaret Mitchell. (in Conversation, Explaining His Dislike For Tolstoy)

Life Is A Game With Many Rules But No Referee. One Learns How To Play It More By Watching It Than By Consulting Any Book, Including The Holy Book. Small Wonder, Then, That So Many Play Dirty, That So Few Win, That So Many Lose.

If I Can Get Somewhere, I'm All Right. If Not, I'm Miserable.

Because Every Book Of Art, Be It A Poem Or A Cupola, Is Understandably A Self-portrait Of Its Author, We Won't Strain Ourselves Too Hard Trying To Distinguish Between The Author's Persona And The Poem's Lyrical Hero. As A Rule, Such Distinctions Are Quite Meaningless, If Only Because A Lyrical Hero Is Invariably An Author's Self-projection.

Poetry Is Not Only The Most Concise Way Of Conveying The Human Experience; It Also Offers The Highest Possible Standards For Any Linguistic Operation.