All That We Are Not

The Surest Sign That A Man Has A Genuine Taste Of His Own Is That He Is Uncertain Of It.

One Cannot Walk Through An Assembly Factory And Not Feel That One Is In Hell.

The Poet Marries The Language, And Out Of This Marriage The Poem Is Born.

And None Will Hear The Postman’s Knock Without A Quickening Of The Heart. For Who Can Bear To Feel Himself Forgotten?

Let Me See What I Wrote So I Know What I Think