In A World Of Fugitives,

With A Poem You Can Say 'i Got My Feeling Into Words For Myself. I Now Have The Equivalent In Words For That Much Of What I Have Felt.'

Gradually We Come To Admit That Shakespeare Understands A Greater Extent And Variety Of Human Life Than Dante; But That Dante Understands Deeper Degrees Of Degradation And Higher Degrees Of Exaltation.

Birth, And Copulation, And Death; That's All The Facts When You Come To Brass Tacks.

The Wounded Surgeon Plies The Steel That Questions The Distempered Part; Beneath The Bleeding Hands We Feel The Sharp Compassion Of The Healer's Art Resolving The Enigma Of The Fever Chart.

What We Know Of Other People's Only Our Memory Of The Moments During Which We Knew Them.