Art Is The Desire Of

Without Poetry The Soul And Heart Of Man Starves And Dies.

Only Those Of Our Poets Who Kept Solidly To The Shakespearean Tradition Achieved Any Measure Of Success. But Keats Was The Last Great Exponent Of That Tradition, And We All Know How Thin, How Lacking In Charm, The Copies Of Keats Have Become.

Don’t Ask A Writer What He’s Working On. It’s Like Asking Someone With Cancer On The Progress Of His Disease.

Time! Joyless Emblem Of The Greed Of Millions, Robber Of The Best Which Earth Can Give.

Love Is A Game-yes? I Think It Is A Drowning.