Women Are Strangers In The Country Of

Evil I Had Never Found Satisfactorily Placeable As An Integral Element Of The Universal, Or Total, Content Of Existence. Indeed, Evil Is Evil Just Because There Is No Logical Place For It, No Room In Reality For It. It Is Unreal, And Yet Real As Something Unreal.

There Can Be No Literary Equivalent To Truth.

Poetry Brings All Possible Experience To The Same Degree: A Degree In The Consciousness Beyond Which The Consciousness Itself Cannot Go.

Nature Is What You Don't Have To Trouble About. It Looks After Itself.

Metaphor Is, As A Common Feature Of Linguistic Practice, An Incidental Expediency, A Homely Administering Of First-aid By Mother-wit To Jams Or Halts In Expression Suddenly Confronting Speakers, With No Respectable Linguistic Solution Immediately In Sight.