No Poet, No Artist Of Any Art,

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

Tradition: How The Vitality Of The Past Enriches The Life Of The Present.

Trying To Use Words, And Every Attempt Is A Wholly New Start, And A Different Kind Of Failure Because One Has Only Learnt To Get The Better Of Words For The Thing One No Longer Has To Say, Or The Way In Which One Is No Longer Disposed To Say It. And So Each Venture Is A New Beginning, A Raid On The Inarticulate With Shabby Equipment Always Deteriorating In The General Mess Of Imprecision Of Feeling.

I Can Connect Nothing With Nothing

Between The Desire And The Spasm, Between The Potency And The Existence, Between The Essence And The Descent, Falls The Shadow.