Art Is Long, And Critics

Originality" Is Everyone's Aim, And Novel Techniques Are As Much Prized As New Scientific Discoveries. [t.s.] Eliot States It With Surprising Naïveté: "it Is Exactly As Wasteful For A Poet To Do What Has Been Done Already As For A Biologist To Rediscover Mendel's Discoveries.

I Don't Need To Praise Anything So Justly Famous As Frost's Observation Of And Empathy With Everything In Nature From A Hornet To A Hillside; And He Has Observed His Own Nature, One Person's Random Or Consequential Chains Of Thoughts And Feelings And Perceptions, Quite As Well. (and This Person, In The Poems, Is Not The "alienated Artist" Cut Off From Everybody Who Isn't, Yum-yum, Another Alienated Artist; He Is Someone Like Normal People Only More So - A Normal Person In The Less Common And More Important Sense Of Normal.)

The Dark, Uneasy World Of Family Life - Where The Greatest Can Fail And The Humblest Succeed.

If You've Been Put In Your Place Long Enough You Begin To Act Like The Place.

The Usual Criticism Of A Novel About An Artist Is That, No Matter How Real He Is As A Man, He Is Not Real To Us As An Artist, Since We Have To Take On Trust The Works Of Art He Produces.