Once upon a time the world was round, and you could go on it around and around.

... there is no point in being realistic about here and now, no use at all not any, and so it is not the nineteenth but the twentieth century, there is no realism now, life is not real it is not earnest, it is strange which is an entirely different matter.

Patriarchal Poetry makes mistakes.

Remarks aren't literature.

A great deal of beauty is rapture. A circle is a necessity. Otherwise you would see no one. We each have our circle.

Picasso once remarked I do not care who it is that has or does influence me as long as it is not myself.

Hope in gates, hope in spoons, hope in doors, hope in tables, no hope in daintiness and determination. Hope in dates.