But The Problem Is To

Yet This Is The Watch By Night. Let Us All Accept New Strength, And Real Tenderness. And At Dawn, Armed With Glowing Patience, We Will Enter The Cities Of Glory.

The Poet, Therefore, Is Truly The Thief Of Fire. He Is Responsible For Humanity, For Animals Even; He Will Have To Make Sure His Visions Can Be Smelled, Fondled, Listened To; If What He Brings Back From Beyond Has Form, He Gives It Form; If It Has None, He Gives It None. A Language Must Be Found…of The Soul, For The Soul And Will Include Everything: Perfumes, Sounds Colors, Thought Grappling With Thought

You Feel On Your Lips A Kiss Fluttering, A Tiny Scrap Of Life.

...these Poets Here, You See, They Are Not Of This World:let Them Live Their Strange Life; Let Them Be Cold And Hungry, Let Them Run, Love And Sing: They Are As Rich As Jacques Coeur, All These Silly Children, For They Have Their Souls Full Of Rhymes, Rhymes Which Laugh And Cry, Which Make Us Laugh Or Cry: Let Them Live: God Blesses All The Merciful: And The World Blesses The Poets.

I Saw That All Beings Are Fated To Happiness: Action Is Not Life, But A Way Of Wasting Some Force, An Enervation. Morality Is The Weakness Of The Brain.