The Public Is Never Pleased

Poetry Is A Religion With No Hope.

He Who Is Affected By An Insult Is Infected By It.

The Poet Doesn't Invent. He Listens.

Poetry Is A Religion Without Hope. The Poet Exhausts Himself In Its Service, Knowing That, In The Long Run, A Masterpiece Is Nothing But The Performance Of A Trained Dog On Very Shaky Ground.

Wealth Is An Inborn Attitude Of Mind, Like Poverty. The Pauper Who Has Made His Pile May Flaunt His Spoils, But Cannot Wear Them Plausibly.