When It Meows, One Scarcely Hears It...

He Possessed The Logic Of All Good Intentions And A Knowledge Of All The Tricks Of His Trade, And Yet He Never Succeeded At Anything, Because He Believed Too Much In The Impossible. Surprising? Why So? He Was Forever In The Act Of Conceiving It!

Passion I Hate, And Spirit Does Me Wrong. Let Us Love Gently.

Poetry Has No Goal Other Than Itself; It Can Have No Other, And No Poem Will Be So Great, So Noble, So Truly Worthy Of The Name Of Poem, Than One Written Uniquely For The Pleasure Of Writing A Poem.

Genius Is Nothing More Nor Less Than Childhood Recaptured At Will.

The Man Who Says His Evening Prayer Is A Captain Posting His Sentinels. He Can Sleep.