The Light Would Show (if It Could

I Am One Of Those Unhappy Persons Who Inspire Bores To The Greatest Flights Of Art.

I Am Not Eccentric. It's Just That I Am More Alive Than Most People. I Am An Unpopular Electric Eel Set In A Pond Of Goldfish.

[history Is] That Terrible Mill In Which Sawdust Rejoins Sawdust.

Still Falls The Rain - Dark As The World Of Man, Black As Our Loss - Blind As The Nineteen Hundred And Forty Nails Upon The Cross.

Isn't It Curious How One Has Only To Open A Book Of Verse To Realise Immediately That It Was Written By A Very Fine Poet, Or Else That It Was Written By Someone Who Is Not A Poet At All. In The Case Of The Former, The Lines, The Images, Though They Are Inherent In Each Other, Leap Up And Give One This Shock Of Delight. In The Case Of The Latter, They Lie Flat On The Page, Never Having Lived.