I Would Talk In Iambic Pentameter If

Till I, High In The Tower Of My Time Among Familiar Ruins, Began To Cry For Accident, Sickness, Justice, War And Crime, Because All Died, Because I Had To Die. The Snow Fell, The Trees Stood, The Promise Kept, And A Child I Slept.

History Is One Of Those Marvelous And Necessary Illusions We Have To Deal With. It's One Of The Ways Of Dealing With Our World With Impossible Generalities Which We Couldn't Live Without.

Both Poet And Painter Want To Reach The Silence Behind The Language, The Silence Within The Language. Both Painter And Poet Want Their Work To Shine Not Only In Daylight But (by Whatever Illusionist Magic) From Within.

When I Was Starting To Write, The Great Influence Was T.s. Eliot And After That William Butler Yeats.

The Historian Is Terribly Responsible To What He Can Discern Are The Facts Of The Case, But He's Nothing If He Doesn't Make Out A Case.