The poem is always the last resort. In it the poet makes a world in little, and finds peace, even though, under complete focused emotion, the evocation be far more bitter than reality, or far more lovely.

Stupidity always accompanies evil. Or evil, stupidity.

Innocence of heart and violence of feeling are necessary in any kind of superior achievement: The arts cannot exist without them.

The fact, and the intuition or logic about the fact, are severe coordinates in fiction. In the short story they must cross with hair-line precision.

The measured blood beats out the year's delay.

No more pronouncements on lousy verse. No more hidden competition. No more struggling not to be a square.

It is almost impossible for the poetess, once laurelled, to take off the crown for good or to reject values and taste of those who tender it.