Every Thought Sounds Like A

How Our Story Has Been Divided Up Among The Truth-telling Professions! Religion, Philosophy, History, Poetry, Compete With Each Other For Our Ears; And Science Competes With All Together. And For Each We Have A Different Set Of Ears. But, Though We Hear Much, What We Are Told Is As Nothing: None Of It Gives Us Ourselves, Rather Each Story-kind Steals Us To Make Its Reality Of Us.

Shakespeare Alternated Between Musical Surrenders To Social Prestige And Magnificent Fits Of Poetic Remorse.

Every Woman Must Live By Some Sense Of Victory Over Disappointments, And Olympias Was Not The Sort Of Woman To Find Compensation In Her Own Powers Of Self-control And Endurance.

Women From Earliest Times Have Been Used As Conveniences Of Communication With Unseen, Inaccessible Powers, But Always In The Sense That Such Exposing Of Self To Dangerous Mysteries, Such Destruction Of The Understanding As Was Required To Become The Slave Of Unseen Powers, Did Not Matter Because The Communicant Was Only A Woman, In Herself An Undetermined Cipher - A Nothing.

When Modernist Poetry, Or What Not So Long Ago Passed For Modernist Poetry, Can Reach The Stage Where The Following Piece By Mr. Ezra Pound Is Seriously Offered As A Poem, There Is Some Justification For The Plain Reader And Orthodox Critic Who Shrinks From Anything That May Be Labelled 'modernist' Either In Terms Of Condemnation Or Approbation. Better He Thinks, That Ten Authentic Poets Should Be Left For Posterity To Discover Than One Charlatan Should Be Allowed To Steal Into The Temple Of Fame.