Still falls the rain -- dark as the world of man, black as our loss -- blind as the nineteen hundred and forty nails upon the Cross.
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I'm not the man to balk at a low smell, I not the man to insist on asphodel. This sounds like a He-fellow, don't you think? It sounds like that. I belch, I bawl, I drink.
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Vulgarity is, in reality, nothing but a modern, chic, pert descendant of the goddess Dullness.
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The poet speaks to all men of that other life of theirs that they have smothered and forgotten.
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I wish the government would put a tax on pianos for the incompetent.
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The living blind and seeing Dead together lie As if in love . . . There was no more hating then,...
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I am one of those unhappy persons who inspire bores to the greatest flights of art.
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