The stars are not wanted now, put out every one Pack up the moon & dismantle the sun.

Follow, poet, follow right To the bottom of the night, With your unconstraining voice Still persuade us to rejoice; With the farming of a verse Make a vineyard of the curse, Sing of human unsuccess In a rapture of distress; In the deserts of the heart Let the healing fountain start, In the prison of his days Teach the free man how to praise.

One demands two things of a poem. Firstly, it must be a well-made verbal object that does honor to the language in which it is written. Secondly, it must say something significant about a reality common to us all, but perceived from a unique perspective. What the poet says has never been said before, but, once he has said it, his readers recognize its validity for themselves.

History marched to the drums of a clear idea...

As a rule, it was the pleasure-haters who became unjust.

Of course,Behaviourism 'works'. So does torture.

A craftsman knows in advance what the finished result will be, while the artist knows only what it will be when he has finished it.