I cannot figure out just what Dadaism is beyond an insane jumble of the four winds, the six senses, and plum pudding. But if the Baroness is to be a keystone for it, — then I think I can possibly know when it is coming and avoid it.

One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them.

One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them, to have the right ones form themselves into the proper pattern at the right moment.

Permit me voyage, love, into your hands.

And inasmuch as the bridge is a symbol of all such poetry as I am interested in writing it is my present fancy that a year from now I'll be more contented working in an office than ever before.

The fact that The Bridge contains folk lore and other material suitable to the epic form need not therefore prove its failure as a long lyric poem, with interrelated sections.

Let my lusts be my ruin, then, since all else is a fake and a mockery.