A Poem Should Be Palpable And Mute

The Dissenter Is Every Human Being At Those Moments Of His Life When He Resigns Momentarily From The Herd And Thinks For Himself.

The One Man Who Should Never Attempt An Explanation Of A Poem Is Its Author. If The Poem Can Be Improved By It's Author's Explanations It Never Should Have Been Published, And If The Poem Cannot Be Improved By Its Author's Explanations The Explanations Are Scarcely Worth Reading.

What You Really Have To Know Is One: Yourself. And The Only Way You Can Know That One Is In The Mirror Of The Others. And The Only Way You Can See Into The Mirror Of The Others Is By Love Or Its Opposite—by Profound Emotion. Certainly Not By Curiosity—by Dancing Around Asking, Looking, Making Notes. You Have To Live Relationships To Know.

Around, Around The Sun We Go: The Moon Goes Round The Earth. We Do Not Die Of Death: We Die Of Vertigo.

That Peculiar Disease Of Intellectuals, That Infatuation With Ideas At The Expense Of Experience, That Compels Experience To Conform To Bookish Expectations.