Sentimentality is a failure of feeling.

The fire burns as the novel taught it how.

We have been a little insane about the truth. We have had an obsession.

After the leaves have fallen, we return To a plain sense of things. It is as if We had come to an end of the imagination, Inanimate in an inert savoir.

Poetry is a response to the daily necessity of getting the world right.

The imagination loses vitality as it ceases to adhere to what is real. When it adheres to the unreal and intensifies what is unreal, while its first effect may be extraordinary, that effect is the maximum effect that it will ever have.

Life is the elimination of what is dead.