What Are Days For? Days Are Where

But O, Photography! As No Art Is, Faithful And Disappointing!

Seriously, I Think It Is A Grave Fault In Life That So Much Time Is Wasted In Social Matters, Because It Not Only Takes Up Time When You Might Be Doing Individual Private Things, But It Prevents You Storing Up The Psychic Energy That Can Then Be Released To Create Art Or Whatever It Is. It's Terrible The Way We Scotch Silence & Solitude At Every Turn, Quite Suicidal. I Can't See How To Avoid It, Without Being Very Rich Or Very Unpopular, & It Does Worry Me, For Time Is Slipping By , And Nothing Is Done. It Isn't As If Anything Was Gained By This Social Frivolity, It Isn't: It's Just A Waste.

I Didn't Choose Poetry: Poetry Chose Me.

Death: The Anaesthetic From Which None Come Round.

So Many Things I Had Thought Forgotten Return To My Mind With Stranger Pain: Like Letters That Arrive Addressed To Someone Who Left The House So Many Years Ago.