Good Taste Is The Worst

The Poet Is A Brother Speaking To A Brother Of "a Moment Of Their Other Lives" - A Moment That Had Been Buried Beneath The Dust Of The Busy World.

What The Reporters Are Like! They Are Mad With Excitement At The Thought Of My Approaching Demise. Kind Sister Farquhar, My Nurse, Spends Much Of Her Time In Throwing Them Downstairs. But One Got In The Other Day, And Asked Me If I Mind The Fact That I Must Die.

Art Is Magic, Not Logic. This Craze For The Logical Spirit In Irrational Shape Is Part Of The Present Harmful Mania For Uniformity.

Good Taste Is The Worst Vice Ever Invented.

My Poems Are Hymns Of Praise To The Glory Of Life.