“A poem is true if it hangs together. Information points to something else. A poem points to nothing but itself.”
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The people I respect most behave as if they were immortal and as if society was eternal.
We are willing enough to praise freedom when she is safely tucked away in the past and cannot be a nuisance. In the present, amidst dangers whose outcome we cannot foresee, we get nervous about her, and admit censorship.
One of the evils of money is that it tempts us to look at it rather than at the things that it buys.
I am so used to seeing the sort of play which deals with one man and two women. They do not leave me with the feeling I have made a full theatrical meal they do not give me the experience of the multiplicity of life.
