Because The Holy Ghost Over The Bent

I Do Not Write For The Public. You Are My Public And I Hope To Convert You.

Horrible To Say, In A Manner I Am A Communist.

Searching Nature I Taste Self But At One Tankard, That Of My Own Being.

When I Compare Myself, My Being-myself, With Anything Else Whatever, All Things Alike, All In The Same Degree, Rebuff Me With Blank Unlikeness.

It Is A Happy Thing That There Is No Royal Road To Poetry. The World Should Know By This Time That One Cannot Reach Parnassus Except By Flying Thither.