Love Is Every Bit As Violent And

I Have Gone To The Forest.

One Must Know And Recognize Not Merely The Direct But The Secret Power Of The Word.

Language Must Resound With All The Harmonies Of Music. The Writer Must Always, At All Times, Find The Tremulous Word Which Captures The Thing And Is Able To Draw A Sob From My Soul By Its Very Rightness.

I Can't Even Make Up A Rhyme About An Umbrella, Let Alone Death And Life And Eternal Peace.

Heaven Knows That There Are Plenty Of Opportunities In Later Life, Too, For Being Carried Away. What Of It? We Remain What We Are And, No Doubt, It Is All Very Good For Us!