Fact Is Not Truth, But

So When I'm Killed, Don't Wait For Me, Walking The Dim Corridor; In Heaven Or Hell, Don't Wait For Me, Or You Must Wait For Evermore. You'll Find Me Buried, Living-dead In These Verses That You've Read.

Faults In English Prose Derive Not So Much From Lack Of Knowledge, Intelligence Or Art As From Lack Of Thought, Patience Or Goodwill.

The Art Of Poetry Consists In Taking The Poem Through Draft After Draft, Without Losing Its Inspirational Magic: He Removes Everything Irrelevant Or Distracting, And Tightens Up What Is Left. Lazy Poets Never Carry Their Early Drafts Far Enough: Some Even Believe That Virtue Lies In The Original Doodle Scrawled On The Back Of An Envelope.

The Butterfly, A Cabbage-white, (his Honest Idiocy Of Flight) Will Never Now, It Is Too Late, Master The Art Of Flying Straight.

Since The Age Of 15 Poetry Has Been My Ruling Passion And I Have Never Intentionally Undertaken Any Task Or Formed Any Relationship That Seemed Inconsistent With Poetic Principles; Which Has Sometimes Won Me The Reputation Of An Eccentric.