He's So Dumb He Doesn't

Poetry Is Either Something That Lives Like Fire Inside You -- Like Music To The Musician Or Marxism To The Communist -- Or Else It Is Nothing, An Empty, Formalized Bore Around Which Pedants Can Endlessly Drone Their Notes And Explanations.

Amory: I Love You. Rosalind: I Love You- Now.

Very Well Then, Better A Sane Crook Than A Mad Puritan.

Draw Your Chair Up Close To The Edge Of The Precipice And I’ll Tell You A Story.

An Author Ought To Write For The Youth Of His Own Generation, The Critics Of The Next, And The Schoolmaster Of Ever Afterwards.