You Put Up With Your Voice And

The World Began In Hazard And Will End In It.

It's Despair At The Lack Of Feeling, Of Love, Of Reason In The World. It's Despair That Anyone Can Even Contemplate The Idea Of Dropping A Bomb Or Ordering That It Should Be Dropped. It's Despair That So Few Of Us Care. It's Despair That There's So Much Brutality And Callousness In The World. It's Despair That Perfectly Normal Young Men Can Be Made Vicious And Evil Because They've Won A Lot Of Money. And Then Do What You've Done To Me.

He Felt Himself In Suspension Between The Two Worlds, The Warm, Neat Civilization Behind His Back, The Cool, Dark Mystery Outside. We All Write Poems; It Is Simply That Poets Are The Ones Who Write In Words.

The Privileges Of Knowledge Have To Be Bought At The Cost Of The Consolations Of Ignorance.

I Read And I Read; And I Was Like A Medieval King, I Had Fallen In Love With The Picture Long Before I Saw The Reality.