We Are Lived By Powers We Pretend

Art Is Our Chief Means Of Breaking Bread With The Dead.

But If A Stranger In The Train Asks Me My Occupation, I Never Answer "writer" For Fear That He May Go On To Ask Me What I Write, And To Answer "poetry" Would Embarrass Us Both, For We Both Know That Nobody Can Earn A Living Simply By Writing Poetry.

One Of The Troubles Of Our Times Is That We Are All, I Think, Precocious As Personalities And Backward As Characters.

Fame Often Makes A Writer Vain, But Seldom Makes Him Proud.

In The Deserts Of The Heart Let The Healing Fountain Start.