Now the peak of summer's past, the sky is overcast And the love we swore would last for an age seems deceit.

The poetic myths are dead; and the poetic image, which is the myth of the individual, reigns in their stead.

A poet is not a public figure. A poet should be read and not seen.

We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand.

Now the peak of summer's past, the sky is overcast And the love we swore would last for an age seems deceit.

We who fly do so for the love of flying. We are alive in the air with this miracle that lies in our hands and beneath our feet.

Flying alone! Nothing gives such a sense of mastery over time over mechanism, mastery indeed over space, time, and life itself, as this.