A Critic Is A Lug-worm

I Have Decided To Leave Clea’s Last Letter Un-answered. I No Longer Wish To Coerce Anyone, To Make Promises, To Think Of Life In Terms Of Compacts, Resolutions, Covenants. It Will Be Up To Clea To Interpret My Silence According To Her Own Needs And Desires, To Come To Me If She Has Need Or Not, As The Case May Be. Does Not Everything Depend On Our Interpretation Of The Silence Around Us?

She Took Kisses Like So Many Coats Of Paint […] How Long And How Vainly I Searched For Excuses Which Might Make Her Amorality If Not Palatable At Lest Understandable. I Realize Now The Time I Wasted In This Way; Instead Of Enjoying Her And Turning Aside From These Preoccupations With The Thought, ‘she Is Untrustworthy As She Is Beautiful. She Takes Love As Plants Do Water, Lightly, Thoughtlessly.

No One Can Go On Being A Rebel Too Long Without Turning Into An Autocrat.

Let Us Define 'man' As A Poet Perpetually Conspiring Against Himself.

Sorrow Is Implicit In Love As Gravitation Is Implicit In Mass.