Them Lady Poets Must Not Marry, Pal.

I Didn't Want To Be Like Yeats; I Wanted To Be Yeats.

This World Is Gradually Becoming A Place Where I Do Not Care To Be Any More.

Wishin' Was Dyin' But I Gotta Make It All This Way To That Bed On These Feet.

I Do Strongly Feel That Among The Greatest Pieces Of Luck For High Achievement Is Ordeal. Certain Great Artists Can Make Out Without It, Titian And Others, But Mostly You Need Ordeal. My Idea Is This: The Artist Is Extremely Lucky Who Is Presented With The Worst Possible Ordeal Which Will Not Actually Kill Him. At That Point, He's In Business: Beethoven's Deafness, Goya's Deafness, Milton's Blindness, That Kind Of Thing.

We Have Reason To Be Afraid. This Is A Terrible Place.