'Tis the white stag, Fame, we're a-hunting, bid the world's hounds come to horn!

The flavors of the peach and the apricot are not lost from generation to generation. Neither are they transmitted by book learning.

The apparition of these faces in the crowd; Petals on a wet black bough.

A people that grows accustomed to sloppy writing is a people in the process of losing grip on its empire and on itself.

In verse one can take any damn constant one likes, one can alliterate, or assone, or rhyme, or quant, or smack, only one MUST leave the other elements irregular.

The artist is the antenna of the race.

In our time, the curse is monetary illiteracy, just as inability to read plain print was the curse of earlier centuries.