The Love Of Americans For Their Country

To Philosophize Man Must Put His Whole Soul Into Play, In Much The Same Manner That To Run He Must Use His Heart And Lungs.

That Is Why I Think, In Defiance Of Plato, That There Is At Once Error And Vulgarity In Saying That Poetry Is A Lie, Except In The Sense That Cocteau Wrote One Day: I Am A Lie Who Always Tells The Truth. The Only Poetry Which Lies Purely And Simply Is Academic, Pseudo-classical, Conceptually Repetitive Poetry, And It Is Not Poetry.

The Love Of Americans For Their Country Is Not An Indulgent, It Is An Exacting And Chastising Love; They Cannot Tolerate Its Defects.

Art Is A Creative Effort Of Which The Wellsprings Lie In The Spirit, And Which Brings Us At Once The Most Intimate Self Of The Artist And The Secret Concurrences Which He Has Perceived In Things By Means Of A Vision Or Intuition All His Own, And Not To Be Expressed In Ideas And In Words-expressible Only In The Work Of Art.

Nothing Is More Vain Than To Seek To Unite Men By A Philosophic Minimum.