Mobs Have Passions, Not Brains.

Poetry Is Only Secondarily About Words. Primarily, It Is About Truth. I Dealt With The Ding An Sich, The Substance Behind The Shadow, Weaving Powerful Concepts, Similes, And Connections The Way An Engineer Would Raise A Skyscraper With The Whiskered-alloy Skeleton Being Constructed Long Before The Glass And Plastic And Chromaluminum Appears.

It's One Of The Strangest Attributes Of This Profession That When We Writers Get Exhausted Writing One Thing, We Relax By Writing Another.

Wilkie Collins Was A Rival And Competitor Of Dickens. His Novel Moonstone Sold More Copies At The Time Than Dickens' Last Two Books. But That Meant Nothing In The Long Run. Right Now, To Be Honest, Wilkie Collins Is What He Deserved To Be Back Then: A Footnote, An Almost Lost Memory. And He Knew He Would Become That.

Most Of Us Do Know We Have No Immortality. And When You've Found A Genius, Someone Who Has Already Purchased His Immortality In Musical Or Literary Terms, It's Maddening.

Losing Our Ignorance Can Be Dangerous Because Our Ignorance Is A Shield.