The Poet Never Asks For Admiration; He

I Shall Never Forget What I Saw At The Museum Of Modern Art: In A Spotless Schoolroom, Fifty Little Girls Painting Away At Tables Covered With Brushes, Pots, Tubes, Bowls, Staring Into Space And Sticking Out Their Tongues Like The Clever Animals That Ring A Bell, Tongues Lolling And Eyes Vague. Teachers Supervise These Young Creators Of Abstract Art And Slap Their Wrists If What They Paint Represents Something And Dangerously Inclines Toward Realism. The Mothers - Still At The Picasso Stage - Are Not Admitted.

It Is Not I Who Become Addicted, It Is My Body.

There Are Poets And There Are Grownups.

Not Only Should You Not Accept A Prize. You Should Not Try To Deserve One Either.

The Worst Tragedy For A Poet Is To Be Admired Through Being Misunderstood.