Truth Is Neither Ojectivity Nor The Balanced

But Now The World Breaks In On Us, The World Is Shocked, The World Looks Upon Our Idyll As Madness. The World Maintains That No Rational Man Or Woman Would Have Chosen This Way Of Life - Therefore, It Is Madness. Alone I Confront Them And Tell Them That Nothing Could Be Saner Or Truer! What Do People Really Know About Life? We Fall In Line, Follow The Pattern Established By Our Mentors. Everything Is Based On Assumptions; Even Time, Space, Motion, Matter Are Nothing But Supposition. The World Has No New Knowledge To Impart; It Merely Accepts What Is There.

There Is Nothing Like Being Left Alone Again, To Walk Peacefully With Oneself In The Woods. To Boil One's Coffee And Fill One's Pipe, And To Think Idly And Slowly As One Does It.

A Word Can Be Transformed Into A Coulour, Light, A Smell; It Is The Writer's Task To Use It In Such A Way That It Serves, Never Fails, Can Never Be Ignored.

I Have Had Much To Learn From Sweden's Poetry And, More Especially, From Her Lyrics Of The Last Generation.

Language Must Resound With All The Harmonies Of Music. The Writer Must Always, At All Times, Find The Tremulous Word Which Captures The Thing And Is Able To Draw A Sob From My Soul By Its Very Rightness.