You Have To Make It

Shakespeare's Fault Is Not The Greatest Into Which A Poet May Fall. It Merely Indicates A Deficiency Of Taste.

When One Compares The Talents One Has With Those Of A Leibniz , One Is Tempted To Throw Away One's Books And Go Die Quietly In The Dark Of Some Forgotten Corner.

First Move Me, Astonish Me, Break My Heart, Let Me Tremble, Weep, Stare, Be Enraged-only Then Regale My Eyes.

When Superstition Is Allowed To Perform The Task Of Old Age In Dulling The Human Temperament, We Can Say Goodbye To All Excellence In Poetry, In Painting, And In Music.

To Describe Women, The Pen Should Be Dipped In The Humid Colors Of The Rainbow, And The Paper Dried With The Dust Gathered From The Wings Of A Butterfly.