The Public Is Never Pleased

If A Poet Has A Dream, It Is Not Of Becoming Famous, But Of Being Believed.

The World Owes Its Enchantment To These Curious Creatures And Their Fancies; But Its Multiple Complicity Rejects Them. Thistledown Spirits, Tragic, Heartrending In Their Evanescence, They Must Go Blowing Headlong To Perdition.

I Succeeded In Bewitching A Fair Number And In Being Intoxicated With My Mistakes.

At All Costs The True World Of Childhood Must Prevail, Must Be Restored; That World Whose Momentous, Heroic, Mysterious Quality Is Fed On Airy Nothings, Whose Substance Is So Ill-fitted To Withstand The Brutal Touch Of Adult Inquisition.

Good Music Resembles Something. It Resembles The Composer.