Where The Dead Walked And The Living

As For Literature It Gives No Man A Sinecure. And No One Knows, At Sight, A Masterpiece. And Give Up Verse, My Boy, There's Nothing In It.

Science Is Unpoetic Only To Minds Jaundiced With Sentiment And Romanticism . . . The Great Masters Of The Past Boasted All They Could Of It And Found It Magical.

Use No Superfluous Word, No Adjective, Which Does Not Reveal Something.

What Thou Lovest Well Remains, The Rest Is Dross What Thou Lov'st Well Shall Not Be Reft From Thee What Thou Lov'st Well Is Thy True Heritage Whose World, Or Mine Or Theirs Or Is It Of None? First Came The Seen, Then Thus The Palpable Elysium, Though It Were In The Halls Of Hell. What Thou Lovest Well Is Thy True Heritage.

It Is The Business Of The Artist To Make Humanity Aware Of Itself.